


Waxing Lyrical

by earthdeep



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Shadow of Israphel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthdeep/pseuds/earthdeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for NaNoWriMo while trying to fit something around schoolwork and crossposted over from Tumblr.  This work explores what could've happened at Skyhold prior to Ep27, so obviously expect quite a lot of speculation and death.  Hooray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Opening Stanza

_The end of winter; the start of spring.  Ever the time to start afresh, to redefine the world.  To plan a new year and devise new strategies.  Ever the time for change, yet sometimes for a new act: one that rips apart the old, for better or for worse.  Not that you can tell until the deed is done._

“So we now have a written statement from a representative at Verigan’s Hold,” explained Skylord Amber, unfolding a large sheet of parchment from a thick folder full of similar spiels from significant locations across Minecraftia.

“I suppose we can verify it is once again Adaephon’s by the sheer _length_ of the thing,” yawned Baako.  It was barely noon, though the light and weather would suggest otherwise, and both he and Amber had been going over paperwork for six hours already.  It really was enough to drive one quite mad.  The skylords were supposed to be holding a meeting at Skyhold concerning whether they needed to mobilise forces, considering the worrying reports from the holds along The Wall, and the complete absence of communication in any form from Lastwatch.  More reports had flooded in from citizens of Mistral claiming they’d seen monsters and dark shadowy figures both on the outskirts and surrounding colonies and indeed even within the city walls, though Baako would happily pin his suspicions of the latter claims as resulting from a partial power failure thanks to an interrupted fuel supply; he could swear the roads were becoming less and less reliable.  Baako’s eyes began to glaze as he squinted at the compact black text completely covering the parchment.  How anyone could fit what appeared to be around ten thousand words on a single page was beyond him, even if that page was at least thrice the size of anything else currently on the desk between the two skylords, possibly including the entire surface area of the large desk lamp.

“Tired, sir?” asked Amber, a concerned grimace on her face.  “I don’t mind making a summary and reading that out instead in the meeting tomorrow.  After all, I’ve already read it through a couple of times.”

_“How does she do that?”_ thought Baako, smiling, thanking her.  _“She received the thing two hours ago and we’ve only been on a five minute break since!”_   Then again, maybe willpower did indeed give a person supernatural efficiency.  Amber seemed the type to receive such a gift.

“Though I hope James will be back on schedule,” continued Amber, catching Baako off guard and still looking like a stuffed animal.  “We already have two people out of action; it wouldn’t do to have a third.”  She was perfectly correct.  Two skylords had already been assigned the task of keeping Mistral running and could hardly been excused.  Since the aftermath of the last Important Meeting to Decide the Fate of Minecraftia – the event was held in Mistral, information had leaked, and it had taken a massive adjustment of the rumour mill to hush up – they’d decided _not_ to repeat history and instead sacrificed a couple of randomly chosen skylords.

“Actually I do need to check something with you,” said Amber, tidily folding up the giant parchment and replacing it into the binder.

“Hmm?”

“We left _Jasper and Lysander_ in charge.”  Baako nodded, signalling her to continue.  She didn’t.

“I’m sure they’ll realise the gravity of the situation and act accordingly,” sighed Baako.  Yes, there had been plenty of talk of this.  Far too much talk.  And it was still far too early in the day to be revisiting this talk.

“Baako, sir, I hope you realise that there is still gossip that this is a scheme of yours to make the two of them sort out whatever’s between them.  I’ve been trying to sort it out for the past three days.”

“Nonsense,” chuckled Baako, shaking his head.  “Drawing straws is a perfectly fair method of deciding which I had no opportunity to tamper with.  Therefore it is pure chance that Jasper and Lysander were chosen together.”

“In that case, Chance wishes the downfall of us all!” said Amber, the spirit of a smile on her open mouth.

“It’s not worth fretting over,” murmured Baako.   As if this trifling matter would be a matter at all in the matter of the future.  The younger skylord peered up anxiously.

“Is something the matter sir?  You look very pensive all of a sudden.”

“It’s just...”  Baako paused.  _“Damn, what words was he trying to grasp?”_   “I’m surprised there would be so much gossip.  Issues like this usually result in nothing around here.”

“Possibly stress then?”

“Maybe.”  Baako paused again.  “But it’s far worse than last time.”

“’Last time’, sir?” questioned Amber, tilting her head.  “Before the Sand Wars if I am to understand?”

“Correct.”  Absentmindedly Baako drummed his fingers over the polished wood of the desk before him.  “There seems to be far more... _uneasiness_.”  He stopped again, halting the constant passage of his fingertips.  Judging by the unsure look on Amber’s face he was beginning to wonder if his age was getting to him.  He was hardly what anyone would call ‘young’.  “And yes Amber, I understand that we know of the possibility of another war this time.  One can hardly blame them all for anticipating something that’s already shaped their lives too much.”  The look on the younger woman’s face was slowly causing his insides to crumble.  He stared down at the table again, mumbling “forget I said anything; it’s of little importance” and grimaced.  _“Ah; back to the wonders of paperwork.”_

“Sir!  Ma’am!” shouted a newcomer from the open door of the building.  Had he left that door open?  Baako couldn’t remember.

“What is it, Skylord Vimes?” called back Amber inquisitively, brushing more papers into a perfectly neat pile and turning to look at the sudden intrusion.  The intrusion looked panicked, his one working eye stretched wide open.

“Smoke,” yelled Vimes, still standing with one arm planted firmly on the dark wooden doorframe.  “Coming from the Central Spire!”  A second passed before Baako leaped up and jogged to the door to look out over the Hold, powdered snow coating every surface like especially stubborn sugar over one’s clothes.  Sure enough, thick black smoke was rising from the very centre of the spire, dissipating as it was blown away to the distance by the winds that whipped the uppermost reaches of the citadel.

“Vimes, proceed at once to atop the spire and put that fire out with whatever means available without destroying the surface beneath it,” rushed Baako, his tone losing all joviality and humour, at once professional and perfectly business-like.  With a shout and a nod, Vimes was sprinting up the icy hill to the entrance of the tower, grabbing onto trees as he went to stop himself from losing his balance.

The old skylord turned darkly back to Amber, a look of only mild confusion on her face.  Wordlessly he returned to his seat and began once again to tap his fingers over the desk.

“The Seal,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

“To the control room?”

“Exactly.”  The two sat in silence, permeated only by the regular rhythm of Baako’s fingers.  The feelings of uneasiness seemed less likely to be purely of his imagination.

***

_Snow: the eraser of life and nature that existed before even the first creature.  Creating a new world where the old is forgotten and instead the new is forever ingrained into the fabric of the earth.  Yet such a fleeting world, that only a little hot anger can destroy forever.  But such is the passage of life._

Skylord James arrived early the next morning and was quickly received by Baako, having kept himself up half the night feigning a night patrol in worry.  As the airship landed and the blonde practically leaped off the craft, the sun was just starting to dissolve the late winter snow clouds and signal the new day.

Though the man looked worried as he walked briskly down the slippery walkways to the centre platform.  Eventually he thrust a handwritten note towards Baako and made for his own residence.  Baako’s eyes scanned the note, focussed on the signature.

“James, where did you find this?” he asked in a hushed voice, beckoning for the younger man to follow him.  James looked anxiously away.

“He pinned it to the door of his house, Skylord Baako.” 

“Any other messages?”

“Apparently none, Skylord Baako sir.  I am told he spoke of this to no one.”

Eventually they reached Baako’s house (usually used for such meetings) and Baako offered him a seat on one side of the desk in the centre of the room.  James obliged, eyes darting around the room, settling on the files of papers still left where they were from the previous day.  The older man continued to pace back and forth.

_I have left Mistral temporarily to aid Peculier and those he believes are Heroes.  I should be gone a fortnight at most, as I am travelling to the coordinates (37, 2) on the 79 th Edition of the Standard Map of Minecraftia.  –Skylord Lysander Westland_

“Skylord Baako?” piped up James once more.  “Who is ‘Peculier’?  I feel I should recognise the name, but I’m not sure why.”  Still Baako was pacing, before finally sitting down on the opposite side of the desk, head in his hands.  He laid the scrap of paper on the surface between them, on top of one of the files.

“He was,” Baako began, beginning to thump one finger on the desk, looking for the words he needed.  “He was a childhood friend of my grandson’s.  You must have heard of him in that context.  Nothing more substantial than that.”

The blonde haired skylord next looked up with eyes lidded with disbelief.  “You’re clearly lying sir,” he growled.  “For a start, Lysander would never mention anything so helpful as details from a time before he had his goggles, and secondly, I hardly think a mere childhood friend claiming something as superstitious as Heroes existing would persuade him to leave the charge of a city up to Skylord Jasper of all people.”

“You’d be surprised-”

“I’m afraid to tell you that I am not an idiot, Skylord Baako.”  James’ look of disbelief had by now morphed into a glare.  “What the hell is so important about ‘Peculier’ that would cause him to take off without previously mentioning the name beforehand?  What the hell info is _he_ privy to to regard that name so damn highly that he’d leave his job for it while you wouldn’t tell another soul?!  That guy wouldn’t even leave his post for anything unless it was the most serious thing in the world!  I doubt he’d even attend his own mother’s funeral if it involved going against orders!”

A moment passed for the air to settle between them.  Dust motes were waltzing in the sunlight that now streamed in shards through frosty windows and the few birds habiting Skyhold began to warm up for their songs.  Silently James stood and turned to leave; the chair scraping across the floor made more noise than it should.

“I’ll make sure to attend the meeting as soon as I’m finished cleaning up my ship,” he muttered.  The door slammed on his way out.  Doubtless James had had the matter preying on his mind since first reading the note; he could be untrusting of others at best.

But yes.  Peculier: the new name of Antioch, if Baako’s memory served him correctly.  At least he remembered telling it to his grandson years ago to try and cheer him up.  He didn’t actually expect him to remember that nor did he think he would still believe it after so many years – that was the wonderful thing about telling a child a lot of stories.  And now mention of Heroes as well.  Perhaps fairy stories really were coming to life these days, with the battle to save the world et al.  That wasn’t a particularly comforting thought when applied to a reasonable situation now was it?  Calmly the note was placed in the folder it resided on and Baako stumbled over to his kitchen to get himself a drink; why did anything family-related have to be put under such scrutiny?  It always ended up so complicated.

***

_Sowing seeds of doubt to grow the crops of hatred: so easy to nurture yet so proficient.  A few words, a few missing coins; all change visions of others and distort events.  Beware thee who should try to change the cycle, thee who brings a scythe ready for change; it will never be so easy._

“Why do _we_ have to go look for him?” whined Horus, slumping his shoulders and heaving himself to his feet.  He and James had just been asked by Amber to try and find Vimes, who was now running late to the meeting.  They’d asked around and apparently no one had seen him for the whole day; needless to say there was some concern.

“Because you two were the latest,” snapped back Amber, fiddling with a few papers, reordering and shuffling them like playing cards.

“Huh?  But I had a valid reason!” argued James having still not got up from his chair.  He had suffered a few post-flight technical problems involving rather a lot of combustion (and in explaining them to the others trying to clear his name he was certainly not lacking detail).  Amber looked over the top of a sheet of paper thoughtfully.

“Very well.”  She returned the paper to the pack.  “Off you go Horus.”  Horus made an ungodly moan as he left the room.  “And check the Central Spire to make sure he’s not been stuck up there!”

“How and why exactly would he be stuck up there?!” Horus shouted back, his form already lost to the wall.

“Look, kid, just follow orders!”  The only female skylord sat back in her chair, rubbing her temples firmly.  Why did everyone have to just vanish as of late?  It was incredibly impractical.  By now chatter was starting to build up again from the few skylords remaining in the room; a few minutes later they heard the alarmed scream.

Feet rushed, crunching as they crushed snow beneath them, slapping against sandstone as six people raced up the curling stairs of the Central Spire to where Horus’ yells were still ringing out loudly.  They burst out into grey sunlight, white landscape splattered with red and pale yellow.  Horus was currently crouching down near the exit of the stairway, hyperventilating; it wasn’t exactly difficult to work out why.  The final wall, ladder pressed against, was stained rusty, draining down to the body of Skylord Vimes lay sprawled sideways on heavily dyed snow.  A meat hook protruded from his upper back and he had a surprised look on his face.  Amber looked darkly on.  Someone else was screaming now, and she could hear Vitali of all people trying to hush him.  Baako stepped forwards to her side, as Amber instructed the others to return downstairs and to their homes.  Now wasn’t the time for a meeting.  Not just yet.

“Amber?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you have any idea who could have done this?”

“Not a clue, sir.”  Baako cast a final glance at Vimes – no, he wasn’t _Vimes_ anymore – at the _corpse_ and patted Amber on the shoulder, mumbling about going to comfort the others, asking whether she would like to go home too; they would move the body later.  Amber shook her head.  She wasn’t just going to leave it like this.  Meat hooks didn’t just fall from the sky and randomly impale innocuous skylords.

Actually how something like that end up on the peak of Skyhold in the first place?

The lady turned round and scanned the area; yes, she was indeed on her own now.  The sobbing of the others now came only from the platform below.  She turned back to the scene, trying to control her stomach.  What the hell happened?

The snow was uneven all around, in some places barely a millimetre thick.  It had snowed only a little overnight.  Therefore a lot of the ground had been exposed before.  Usually that would be strange, considering how seldom anyone climbed up to the top of the spire (especially since few had ever known about the control room beneath, or what it signified), but irritatingly this told Amber nothing; Vimes must have been pacing around before or after putting out the fire, if that indeed was what had been causing the smoke.  Maybe the prints?  No, the snowfall had blurred them so only a rough size was visible.  Half the workforce had similar sized feet and similar shaped boots so still useless.  Nervously Amber edged closer.  In this world only a fool refuted that the dead could rise again with new dim light, though Vimes’ eyes betrayed naught: one milky as ever, the other glassy only now.  This would be a good time to pay a few respects before disturbing him.  Quietly she muttered a few before kneeling down do look closer at the metal sticking out of his back, clearly too short to pierce his chest all the way through.  The entry wound was really very rough; it was alarmingly obvious someone had used this in a stabbing motion, rather than a hooking one.  It was, as everything else, dusted with fine pink snow, though here it was greying more than in other places.  Amber wiped a small section off with one finger before examining her skin.  Very strange: engine oil and a few splinters.  Actually maybe she should’ve worn gloves.  Her finger was now both cold and embedded with wood; it was starting to hurt.  No immediately obvious reason for something for curing dead animals to look like it just came out of an airship engine, so onwards with investigating.  The skylord got to her feet once again and wandered carefully around the body to get closer to the ladder, and the bloodstain around it.

Wait; if Vimes had been stabbed in the back, then why was the bloodstain on the wall?  There was no blood on his front now and you could only tell he was long gone by the absence of focus in his eyes if you couldn’t see his back.  Amber committed that to memory.  Damn; where was paper and ink when you needed them?  Remembering that the ‘fire’ was what led Vimes up to his death in the first place, Skylord Amber decided to climb up a _different_ ladder to check on the Seal.

Most of the heavy wooden plug was still coated with half a foot of snow mostly frozen into a solid mass, with only a single large scoop almost surgically removed.  However a patch roughly a couple of feet in diameter uncovered the corner of the large square plug; it was strange to think how few people were aware even of its existence under the snow that here was year round, swept away only by the winds and storms.  Though Amber was certain that the patch caused was by no accident.  Indeed the surrounding snow was sloped and had an extra sheen to it: melted away.  Brushing away the little snow left, Amber winced and withdrew her hand.  Ouch.  More splinters, these ones black, burnt wood.  The ones left on the wood of the Seal stuck in the air as if trying to breathe now the choking frost had been lifted.  Well the plug was made of a sturdy wood that was supposed _not_ to weather so severely.

So the Seal had been attacked.  That was the most likely option.  It had been both scraped with the meat hook currently embedded in Vimes’ corpse – the splinters were too much of a coincidence after all – which had been hidden in someone’s airship or somewhere of similar conditions and later taken up to the top of the Central Spire, and set fire to as a second option – the first method had apparently failed.  So someone had tried to break into the control room guarded by the Seal.

In which case, did Vimes catch them in the act?  That would be a motive for murder.  But what other options were there?  If the attempted burglar had originally escaped, where did they flee to?  Amber poked her head over the side of the uppermost platform.  The snow at the back of the structure looked pristine; no one had touched that for years, clearly.  Unless they could fly or just held onto a ladder for ages, Amber doubted that Vimes was murdered after coming up a second time.

So that meant her first theory was the only probable one.  Vimes saw the burglar/murderer and made for him, at which point he was stabbed...

Amber groaned.  That didn’t work either.  That would mean he would’ve been stabbed in the chest, or the wound was unlikely to be so well positioned, not to mention the fact that one would have to hook rather than stab if their arms were of standard length and build.  Somehow the murderer got _behind_ him.  Amber wandered over to check the ladder again.  And stood bolt upright.  _“Of course.  Checking over the side leaves my back exposed.”_ She made a beeline for a different ladder, and experimentally lurched forwards a little.  She felt her balance tipping over the edge and automatically leaned back.  She was unsteady; a small push from behind to her legs would push her lower half to the lower level while her back would scrape down the wall.  _That was it_.  She regained her balance and jumped down the ladder, speed walking back to the body to examine the wall again.  Sure enough, down the middle of the sanguine staining ran a single line carved into the sandstone, exactly the width of the meat hook.

So the events were clear now.  The criminal, having seen or heard Vimes approaching hid on one of the ladders as the skylord put out the fire with a handful of snow taken from nearby.  Vimes, having worked out that whoever was attempting to burn the Seal was still present, checked over the edge of the platform to spot them.  Realising that their hiding place would soon be discovered, crept up behind Skylord Vimes and skewered him with the meat hook that they had brought to break the Seal (though why they hadn’t simply brought a hammer and chisel or a crowbar, Amber would never know; perhaps they were in it for the theatrics, or perhaps they were unable to steal woodwork tools?).  Vimes, in his final moments balanced himself, but the criminal pushed him over the edge and onto the snow below, leaving a bloodstain behind on the wall.  All of this took place soon after she herself had seen Vimes off, a bit after noon the previous day.

And the perpetrator had escaped with ease.  Amber paused, realising she had been grinding her teeth.  All of this led round in a circle.  Whoever did this must’ve been aware of the existence of the Seal and the fact it was wooden but the three most senior skylords, the only ones who were still expected to know its secrets were Amber, Baako, and Vimes.  She was certain it wasn’t her, and she had been with Baako for pretty much the entire day; meanwhile there was no way in the world that Vimes could stab himself in the back with a meat hook and besides, Baako claimed the previous day that there was already black smoke rising to the sky.

Which meant this was another, having more recently discovered the existence of the Seal and the control room beneath.  The hook had recently been near an engine; it was possible someone from outside Skyhold entirely had stowed away with the weapon but were unable to source the correct tools from their home, from lack of money, recognisable notoriety or otherwise.  And not a single vehicle had left since Vimes had died.  So from all of this, one thing was certain.

As long as the killer was still alive, they were still somewhere on Skyhold, and still dangerous.

_...I stuck a meat hook in his back..._


	2. Chapter 2: Rhyming Couplet

_They say time is enough to heal all wounds.  May it truly be said that the pain is dulled and left aside; not even so wondrous a healer as Time can cure scars or leave the worst memories behind, clinging forever for recognition.  Time may heal, but not erase._

Nearly a month after the murder of Vimes, the topic of his death had fallen almost entirely out of conversation.  It had been assumed after all of a fortnight that the killer had at some point fallen to their death off the side of the hold somewhere, was dragged underwater to feed the ecosystem and have their bones picked at for all eternity.  Planning had continued, at a slower pace now; people were more wary, more sceptical of their co-workers, doubting any little decision made.

It happened that that afternoon Amber and Baako were enjoying tea in Amber’s residence.  The break was much enjoyed, considering the amount of negotiation required to even get the Dwarves’ attention – as an emergency measure, the skylords had begun to send out warnings to prepare themselves for darker times to other major cities, including Stoneholm; it was always best to aid others when possible after all, even it was common knowledge the favour never would have been mirrored.  It was a small blessing then, that the Shiplords weren’t in charge anywhere in Minecraftia these days.  The day was a fine one, with light streaking through the front windows and hitting the china tea set, thereby painting it with golden glaze.  March could, perhaps, be a wonderful month if it so chose.

A single and probably completely unintentional knock at the door broke the blissful serenity.

“Come in, Horus!” called Amber.  Baako could only marvel at how she could identify her brother without looking or hearing his voice.  Horus burst into the room.  Really, bursting was the only way to describe the man; he looked ecstatic, with a crescent moon grin plastered over his face.

“You seem happy,” said Amber matter-of-factly.  Oh for goodness’ sake, how did she do that _still_ without turning her head to look?! “So is Finnigan back or have you miraculously found ‘The Magical Hidden Treasure of the Floating Isle’?”

Horus huffed indignantly.  “I haven’t believed ‘The _Enchanted_ Hidden Treasure of the _Flying_ Isle’ exists since I was a kid, you know,” he mumbled, sounding incredibly unconvincing.

“Well I guess you’re still a kid to those in here,” returned Amber after a slight pause, _finally_ turning around to look at Horus.  “So I can only assume Finnigan has returned?”

The skylord in question had been away from Skyhold for roughly the past fortnight, ostensibly to leave some technology at Stoneholm so proper communications could take place between the city and others.  Naturally the moment the first messages were sent, the Dwarves demanded a fee be paid for making them keep “such a terrible, dated, _useless_ piece of human tech”.  Finnigan had been forced to pay them from his own pocket; really they should’ve foreseen the potential ‘dwarven negotiation’, but what lay in the past should lie in peace.  After that little episode, he was supposed to stop off at Mistral to check everything was running smoothly (Skylord Lysander had claimed he would’ve returned a fortnight previously so there should be no problems) and to report what had occurred, and what had been discussed in the meetings that followed, not to mention restocking on fuel.  A simple second task really, but travelling took time and before that day, the weather really had been terrible.  Southerly winds that should have propelled his journey ever swifter instead brought stormy weather and dark daytime skies so black one could mistake them for soot and smoke.  Though at least now the world seemed a brighter place to be once more.

By some witchcraft, Horus’ smile appeared to increase in magnitude as he nodded, before rapidly dropping to more sensible proportions.  “Oh, he said he had something he desperately needed to talk to you about,” he said, chewing his lip in thought.

“Well bring him over then,” sighed Amber with only feigned disinterest.  Much to both Amber and Baako’s surprise, in response Horus stood perfectly still, and tilting his head back exclaimed in moderately loud tone,

“Oi Finnigan!  They said you can come in now!”

Finnigan immediately sidestepped to his right and into the doorway.  The door was open so that warm light was still flooding through.  Actually, the light appeared to have faded a little since Baako last observed it.  Evening must be showing its first signs of setting in.

“Let me guess,” said Amber, returning to real disinterest.  “Even if I said we were busy and Finnigan would have to wait, you would’ve led him into my house anyway?”

“It’s my house too!” snapped back Horus, puffing and crossing his arms angrily.

“I’m more senior in ranking, so I am _obviously_ the mistress of the house.”

“Yeah but I’m the older one, and the _ma-_ ”  Amber suddenly coughed very loudly.

“Care to continue that thought?”

“Um,” blushed Horus, staring at his feet.  “I’ll leave that one there, thanks.”

“Maybe I should get a sign on the door with _No Boys_ written on it?”

“Baako’s in here.”

“Baako has my _permission_ to be in here.”

“Please don’t refer to me as a child!” squawked Skylord Baako, breaking both his and Finnigan’s entranced state.

“Revenge,” breathed Horus, pouting and trotting over to an armchair; rolling his eyes, Finnigan followed after, perching on the arm of the chair.

“Right, where were we before that interlude?” continued on Baako, pressing his fingertips together over his lap.

“Uh, thatta be my cue then.”  Finnigan stared at the wall over Baako’s shoulder awkwardly, visibly biting the inside of his cheek.  “It was ‘bout Mistral.”

“Go on?” mused Baako distantly; opposite him Amber was suddenly on edge.

“Well.”  Finnigan trailed off and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Pardon?”

“Mistral’s fallen.  Quite literally in fact.”

One couldn’t even cut the tension with a knife.  A cannon ball might have dented it, sure, but not a mere blade.

“Fallen, Finnigan?” asked Amber.

Finnigan nodded in response.  “Burnt down.”

Amber nodded her head slightly and fiddled with her shirt sleeve.  “Arson?” she finally stated more than asked.

“Mm-hm.”  Finnigan was still staring at the wall, though had moved onto a patch a little further away from Baako’s blank stare.  “I got an idea of who it was though-”

“Well then please share, Finnigan.”

Finnigan’s gaze was very quickly shifting, having now reached the patch of wall over _Horus’s_ head.  “Evidence n’ all says it’s Skylord Lysander.”  Forget cannonballs, it would probably take a meteor to break the tension now.

Wordlessly Baako stood up and trudged out of the room through the still open door with a solemn look on his face, ignoring the others’ cries for him to come back.  “Skylord Finnigan I expect a full report of whatever you’ve discovered,” barked Amber, standing up herself and beginning to follow Baako out of the house.  “This is a most serious accusation you are placing upon a colleague and I will not accept mere suspicion.  There will be a meeting held to discuss this matter in one hour.  Please notify the other skylords also.”  And with that she was gone.  Horus turned to look up at his friend now they were quite alone in the house.

“Great, _another_ meeting,” groaned Horus.  “I swear that woman’s on an admin spree or something.”  Finnigan chuckled darkly.  “So did you actually see anyone or are we talking smoking ruins here?”

“Nah,” hummed Finnigan.  “Found a crashed airship though.  Two actually.”

“You found two crashed airships?”  Horus burst out cackling.  “Holy crap it would be so like those two to start an air-battle and burn down a city because of it.  Hell, I’d put money on those two getting along before doing anything _not_ reckless when in a mile radius of each other.”

“Yeah, well leave me outta doubting friends, thanks very much!”  Finnigan sighed wistfully, before tipping himself off of the arm of the chair and straightening out his trousers.  “I’ll go start writing stuff up or your sister’ll bite my head off.”

“See ya!” shouted Horus in unnervingly high spirits.  “I’ll go see if James will bet on the Jasper-Lysander situation with me.”

“Ya know, I think you’ve already made that one with ‘im.”

“Have I?  Well I guess I should tell him about the meeting anyway, or Amber’s having my head too.”

***

_It’s funny indeed how so many people think different thoughts, feel different moods, see different sights, even when all faced with the same simple facts.  Some laugh, cry, screech or do nothing at all.  Yet this is what defines humanity?  Perfect irrationality?  No being should be so crazed!_

Amber glared at the _three other people_ currently sitting in a very broken circle, rubbing her temples.  The meeting was supposed to start _ten minutes ago_.  What in Minecraftia were they all doing?

“James said he was taking a shower, and I think Finnigan’s still writing stuff up,” said Horus, crossing his legs and kicking one raised foot in the air, tapping to an inaudible beat.  Great; and now she had a mind reader for a big brother.

“Actually you are talking out loud there,” whispered Baako absentmindedly, staring straight ahead.  Wow.  Was she really that out of sorts today?

“Yep!” yelled Horus.

“Okay the next one to comment on my personal musings gets night patrol every night for the next week!” growled Amber.  This was not the time for frustrations; they were piling up as it was.  All was very silent.  Baako and Horus were looking sheepishly at each other.  In that case she’d probably muttered that last one to herself as well.  “Horus when did you last check on James and Finnigan?”

He paused momentarily before answering.  Really, he really needed to learn what the vocative case was.  “Half an hour ago, maybe, sorta,” he answered with a couple of flourishes of the hand.  Was he being this vague deliberately or was he just doing this to wind her up?  “But Finnigan said he had a lot to write about, and James takes long showers,” he added, one finger raised in the air: the very picture of inspiration.

“I will need to reprimand James over breaking water allowances then.  Thank you for equipping me with that information, Horus.”  Horus was glaring at her under lowered brows.  Whoops.  “And Vitali?”

A short skylord in purple, having before that point gone unnoticed and looking less than half the age of anyone else in the room spoke up: “Vitali said he was going to ‘clean up’; we barely finished lunch, you see...”

“It’s quarter to four in the afternoon,” grumbled Amber.  “Why were you having lunch so late and why was it so urgent he needed to clean away _as this meeting was supposed to be starting_?”  With reddening face and trembling lip the little skylord looked across the broken ring of chairs to Amber; he looked as if he was about to cry.  Amber sighed, dismissing her own question as irrelevant.  No full grown adult –no matter how youthful looking they may be – should be able to look so pitiful.

“Fine,” she conceded, switching her glare onto Horus once more.  He pre-emptively quailed.  “Horus, it’s your turn to run along and round everyone up.  This is getting ridiculous.”

“I always have to go find the others!” Horus complained, folding his arms tight across his chest and sticking up his chin.

“That’s because you’re always late,” retorted Amber, glare unfaltering.  Horus’ chin drooped back down.  “Work on becoming more punctual and you will be treated with more respect by others, especially myself.”

“This is discrimination!” wailed Horus, reluctantly leaning forwards and slowly getting to his feet.  “I am _totally_ calling favouritism on this!”

“Favouritism would result in me _never_ sending you off on trivial errands,” sang Amber.  Next to her Baako smiled inwardly at her change to a more cheerful tone.  It was good that competition didn’t bring out the worst in every person in the world.

“Fine, _anti_ -favouritism then.”

“I still have justified reasons which I have already outlined so please, go right ahead and do what I asked.”  With another resigned moan, Horus trounced out of the room into the cool afternoon, giving a small yelp just outside the doors.  Just then, in a rush two frantic and grumpy looking skylords burst through the doorway: one with dripping wet hands and the other with dripping wet hair.

“You’re both late,” quipped Amber, having produced a report from her pocket and now reading through the dense text upon it.

_“Where in Notch’s name does she get so many reports from,”_ thought Baako to himself.  _“Is that one even real or just a prop?”_

In front of the angry looking woman James and Vitali murmured their apologies before walking over to a couple of empty chairs shame faced.  Now the five people remaining in the room fell to bored silence, other than the tiny skylord in purple, who was experiencing a very happy silence instead (or at least if anything was to be gathered from the ecstatic smile over his features).  After all of thirty seconds the silence was rudely broken by a scream from outside.  Skylord Amber glared up from her ‘paperwork’ – Baako was now pretty certain it was a prop at this point – before glaring back down at it again.

“James, Vitali, please go see what the matter is with Horus,” she rambled distantly, any worry in her voice virtually undetectable.

“Both of us?” whined James.  Vitali was busy looking at her bitterly.

“Equal lack of punctuality and equal lack of decent reason, so an equal errand for the two of you,” clarified Amber, not bothering to look up.  Sighing, the two of them marched out of the room once more.  It took roughly twenty seconds for Vitali to dash _back_ into the room with a panicked look in his eyes.

“It’s happened again!” he whimpered, somehow sounding strangely composed for someone appearing so utterly out of it.  “Finnigan!  Someone’s killed Finnigan!”

***

_Life and death, so unclear, such blurred boundaries between the two.  After all, in this world when is one still alive or soundly dead?  None can ever tell one’s true form, as rules and traditions dissolve and wash away like salt in a running river.  Life and death have meaning no more in the world we are in.  Not with so many exceptions._

Sure enough, as each and every skylord rushed over to Finnigan’s residence, his body sat there, slumped over a writing desk, hand outstretched and reaching to the far wall.  Horus was curled into a ball in an armchair staring wide-eyed at Finnigan’s corpse; James was kneeling on the floor next to him, head darting back and forth between looking at him and the body.

Gravely Amber walked around the body.  A sword was still stuck in his stomach and blood had pooled around the lower part of his face.  Gently she ordered the others out, to return to their homes, for Baako to run a patrol around the fortress with James.  She stood alone in the dark room: no fire, no candles.  She and Horus were the only living bodies in the room.  Quietly she asked Horus to leave the room too; their house was only the next one along, but Horus seemed set on not moving, instead hugging his legs tighter to his chest.  Mentally she shook her head.  It barely mattered, and he, being the first one to find the body could help out.  Come to think of it, Horus was most likely the last one to see Finnigan alive as well.  _And_ was closest to him, unless there was some terrifying underground network connecting her colleagues.  By the looks of it she would have rather a lot of questions.

“Sis, are you even thinking anything at all?” croaked Horus from his chair.  Amber whisked around on her feet.  What in Minecraftia did he mean by that?  Oh right, earlier she’d been so wound up she muttered to herself.  Maybe she wasn’t doing it this time?  Huh.  Seemed almost heartless to think she was made more anxious by people turning up late than someone being murdered.  “Never mind.  You’re doing it again now.”  Oh; she couldn’t quite think up the reasoning behind that one.  Baako was better at understanding people than she, even if she herself was the subject to be understood.  Perhaps he might have an answer to those questions.  Biting her lip and frowning she turned back to Finnigan.  He looked too far back in the chair for the position of the furniture.  But that was obviously due to someone stabbing him.  The chair would have been pulled out, away from the desk, at which point his killer pulled the sword back, pinning him to the back of the chair and running him through.  Basic physics said his balance was off and his face fell forwards back to the surface of the table.

Then of course there was the outstretched hand.  Amber bent down over it, tenderly lifting it up by the wrist.  Of course there was no pulse; what would one expect from an unmoving body with a sword through its gut?  Carefully she looked at the nails. The nail of the index finger was grimy; Amber turned the hand palms up.  Sure enough, the pad of the index finger and the length of his thumb were coated in dry red-brown.  Now why would there be blood on his finger and thumb?  Amber carefully lowered his hand once more to the desk, covered in bloody lines.

No, wait; that was writing!  A long and thick line led from the pooled blood upwards to another unrecognisable shape, then _AI._  The blood had gathered and dried at the bottom of the last line.  Well, “ai” wasn’t a word in common Minecraftian, so what would he write it in his own blood for?  Then again, the random shape was around the same width as the length of his thumb.  So he may have accidentally blurred his own writing; that was irritating.  And Amber knew Finnigan’s handwriting from reading his reports; while he wrote in all capitals, he crossed his ‘I’s rather than leaving them as a single line.  So all in all, the only legible part of the word was “A”, followed by the beginning of a capital letter starting with a vertical line.  Which was pretty useless.

Maybe if she considered what he would bother telling people with his dying message she would come up with something.  No, Amber was drawing a blank.

“Sis, what’re you doing?” piped up Horus again from the chair.  “You haven’t said anything for about five minutes.”

“Ah, thank you for reminding me that you exist,” said Amber, inspiration flooding over her.  She’d allowed Horus to stay for a reason after all.

“Gee, _thanks_.”

Amber turned to look at her little brother, currently peeking over his kneecaps.  “I don’t suppose you have any idea what Finnigan might have tried to write as he was dying?”  It never hurt to ask.  Horus’ eyes widened at the question.  Okay, maybe it occasionally _did_ hurt to ask, if that was his reaction.  But Horus appeared to regain his composure soon after, even loosening his grip on his legs a little.

“Well,” he stuttered, wiggling the toes of one foot up and down as he talked.  “A few weeks ago he was talking to me about a book he had just finished reading, where the dying victim had written the name of a man who later turned out to be the killer.  According to Finnigan it was a really good book.”  Horus looked up thoughtfully at Amber’s very serious face.  “Oh, and he said I should recommend it to you.”

“And you forgot?”

“Yep!  Completely forgot!”  Death had a funny way of pulling people closer together, people always said.  Amber doubted that a little less now.  Though she didn’t really want to read what sounded like a murder mystery after having to deal with two of her own.

But that was new information.  So Finnigan may have tried to write the name of his murderer, dying in the process so that his muscles relaxed and his thumb brushed over the first few letters of the name.  Wonderful.  Calmly and efficiently Amber searched the drawers of the desk, finally finding paper and ink and nothing else of significance and laying them on the floor, hunching over them.  It wouldn’t do to ruin what little information she had laid out on the table.  Soon a side of paper was patterned with neatly printed capital letters.  Amber searched the names of her colleagues, anyone with _A|_ in their names.

Oh hell.  Almost _everyone’s_ names fit!  _AMBER_ fit, so did _BAAKO_ and _JAMES_ and _VITALI_.  Even _FINNIGAN_ and _LYSANDER_ fitted the pattern, and it was exceedingly unlikely to be one of those two.  In short, she now had several suspects, all of which had been seen by her, Horus or the skylord in purple (Amber silently reprimanded herself for forgetting the name of her colleague; she would be sure to check his name against records and apologise to him in person as soon as she possibly could!).  Then again, you had James and Vitali turning up very late.  That _had_ to be important, surely!  Certainly, those two were top priority.  She would ask them a few questions once she had finished up here.

While she was on the floor she was in a good position to check the murder weapon.  She rose to a kneeling position.  Sure enough a small and bloody indent was present on the wooden back of the chair; the sword had been pushed right through Finnigan’s body it seemed.  But the sword... was Finnigan’s own.  A Carefully blocked ‘F’ was engraved in the base of the sword, and the hilt was studded with tiny pieces of fiery red agate.  Only he would have a sword like that.

Sure enough, by the wall behind the desk stood an empty scabbard, the belt it grew from unbuckled and curled up on the floor.  So Finnigan had been stabbed from behind with his own sword.  As he was dying he tried to write the name of his killer.

That would mean he knew his killer?  Strange, if said person had approached from behind.  So Finnigan knew he was not alone in his house.  Interesting.  But at least she was now more certain that this was not the job of an outsider.  So why did the murderer come to the house to begin with?  No, Amber was stumped again.

“Horus?”

“Yeah?”  Amber’s brother was looking a tiny smidge more cheerful as she sat in an armchair facing his.  He could bounce back from things amazingly quickly.

“When you checked up on Horus earlier-”

“He was still alive and writing the report, yep!”  Of course: the report she’d asked him to write.  She had forgotten all about it for a while!  Her gaze whisked over to the desk.  As she suspected, it had vanished.  That was the motive for killing him then: to prevent him leaking details about something.  Well it was either something that had happened with the dwarves, or something about the burning of Mistral.  He’d been vague on details when she last saw him, so was that it?  But James and Vitali were both absent; she was _sure_ neither of them had heard.  After all, she was busy chasing down Baako, who would’ve never told anyone that his own grandson was suspected of arson.

This was getting far too complicated.  Currently, Baako was the person with the clearest motive; he wouldn’t want his grandson to be revealed as a criminal, but she had been with him for a while before the meeting started.  Then you had James and Vitali with ample opportunity as they were both late, but it was unlikely they’d heard about Finnigan’s news.  Of course Horus had also had plenty of opportunity, even admitting he’d previously visited his friend and later being the first to alert them all to the body; not only that, but he recalled remarkably well something that Finnigan had apparently mentioned weeks ago which managed to place suspicion on everyone but him.  However his did still lack a motive.  As much as she hated to suspect her own flesh and blood, it was unjust to show favouritism.   Finally you had the minute possibility that a third party was responsible, though if Finnigan had indeed written the killer’s name, then how had he known that of a third party?

In short, everyone was a suspect depending on how much of the evidence you could trust.  She hadn’t looked around when going after Baako to check for eavesdroppers, she wasn’t certain when exactly Finnigan had been killed, the bloody writing could have been faked, and she couldn’t be certain on quite how her brother’s brain worked (especially under such stress).  Everything was suspicion and doubt: how wonderful.

Maybe she should give up for now.  She would be sure to question Baako, Horus, James and Vitali soon, but it would be cruel to ask so much when they would likely still be in shock from the affair.  Yes, she would wait roughly an hour and bring it up then.  That way they would be a little more used to the facts, while they stayed fresh in their minds.  What could be better?

_...I took his sword and ran him through..._


	3. Chapter 3: Breaking Form

_Life is never so simple as to travel straight or true.  Every little act we do weaves new threads, builds new webs, all ready to ensnare newcomers.  As more become caught the cycle continues to infinity, till there is no more emotion or will.  Only then will the complex and tangled fabric of our universe fray and unravel._

**A bit over one month earlier:**

A solitary skylord knelt still in a cramped cavern, hunched over a few pebbles placed in rectangular formation on the ground before him.  The dirt walls were bathed in the yellow and purple light from the materials and the ritual, leaving the skylord’s face carefully coloured with golden shadows.  After what seemed to the man like forever, the distorted image of a distorted face arose from the glowing portal, it’s glowing red eyes penetrating their obsidian mist surroundings.  The skylord rejoiced only inwardly; to show any signs of a weakness so revered as happiness would be pure suicide.

“The control room?” hissed the image, its features unmoving.

“Yes, my lord,” affirmed the skylord, eyes unwavering from the fog figure.  “I was able to overhear a conversation between two other skylords: the lady and the old man.”

“And what of this ‘control room’?”

“I heard only that it holds the secret to the most major power of the fortress of Skyhold.  The two of them were vague, and soon moved to where I could not follow.”

“So you failed to discover any useful information?”

The skylord clenched his fists out of sight of the dark figure.  _“Emotion is a weakness; one must show none, no matter the cost.”_ “...Yes, my lord.  However I will do anything in my power to make up for this failing.”  _“Don’t rush the words; one must never show desperation lest one is seen as weak.”_ “I believe I know where this ‘control room’ is located, and have it within my power to seize it the instance I return to Skyhold.”

“Then you will do so,” spat the figure.  A more naive individual could almost have mistaken his tone for being pleased.  The image flickered and collapsed in on itself, plunging the cavern into near darkness.  Only the shining glowstone pebbles continued to provide a faint glow as the skylord scooped the stones and placed them in a pouch at his belt and stood to walk to the surface, thankful he still had a resolute purpose.

***

_A new angle, a new perspective, a new viewpoint to consider.  Perhaps mysteries will unravel and peace return to our minds in turmoil.  Perhaps the world will become ever more frightening.  Perhaps there is no new way of seeing.  Perhaps we are all alone._

**A bit less than one month earlier:**

The ascent to the pinnacle of the Central Spire was dizzying to say the least, even for the most skilled of pilots.  It was far from unknown for even senior skylords to become entranced by the spiralling staircase and knocked off balance by the harsh winds so that they fell to their deaths to become drops of bloody flesh on the snow and ice far below.  Not that the latter problem was of any concern to Vitali.  After all, a mere flesh wound would do no harm in the vast expanse of the future.  Finally, yes, finally, he had arisen to the summit.  Gleefully he placed himself near the centre of the platform and began to brush away snow from the ground.  Had it really been so long since the last cadets had been required to climb here to place the spoils from their trials over the seal?  The snow was pristine, unmarred by the prints of ceremonial plates put there to protect the Seal.  Indeed, the Seal too was perfect: smooth wood, remarkably unweathered by the permanent frost.  Eyes glinting he slipped a leather satchel from his shoulder and removed a metal butcher’s hook.  Okay, he had to admit that looking now at the almost glossy wood he was beginning to doubt whether his choice of tool was even adequate.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t _looked_ for an axe, but he was called more urgently than expected, and had been _unable_ to excuse himself to source one.  And besides, an axe was hefty and would never allow itself to be fitted into small compartments while remaining undiscovered.  But nevertheless, at the present moment he would have to suffice with the tool casually grabbed from outside a butcher’s shop.  With careful precision he began to scrape the edge of the wood.

With a little _less_ precision he began to hack at it.

It didn’t appear to do much, but get a few splinters stuck in his hand.  Admitting temporary defeat, Vitali sat back on his haunches and glared at his hand.  Great, now he’d have to either remove all the shards of wood before anyone noticed, or just pretend he was in horrible pain for the next few days.  That’s how people acted when they were impaled by tiny wood particles, right?

His glare shifted back to the Seal.  Rather irritatingly, he had worked up to precisely nowhere.  Maybe the hook _wasn’t_ the best carpentry tool after all.  Also, the hard stare he was giving the wood did as little as the tool itself.  What a _wonderful_ predicament this was indeed.  Gravely he turned and replaced the hook once more in his satchel, eyes glinting as his fingers brushed against a smooth gold box; good, he had left his flint and tinder in his bag.  With a flourish and a leer he snapped open the box, excavated the context and held them dramatically above the exposed wood.

Click, clack, zap and the deed was done.  In a matter of seconds the Seal had caught quite alight, the fire already spreading and thick black smoke rushing up to join the clouds.  Yet maybe a minute later could he hear echoing footsteps from below.  Someone had read such a symbol so swiftly?  Alas, the moment the smoke cleared he would be unmasked!  Frantically his head darted back and forth, finally settling only on the side of the platform.  Well he could hide behind a wall like a common animal if it was only temporary after all.  His dignity would not be at long term risk.  Smirking to himself Vitali lowered himself over the edge, grabbing the rungs of the ladder to steady himself as he heard the footsteps breaking out to the air, a muffled grunt of surprise, a desperate scramble up the ladder on the opposite side of the uppermost platform, the swish and hiss of snow as it was kicked to quench the unrelenting flames over the Seal.  Vitali silently wished the ne’er-do-well above him eternal damnation as he pricked his ears for the following sounds of them moving away.  Finally they appeared and Vitali sighed lightly in relief.  Cautiously he walked around the cylindrical tower to another less conspicuous ladder and peeked his head over the edge of the platform, line of sight blurred by thick and untouched snow.  He was in luck, it was only Vimes, the one skylord who had lost the majority of his peripheral vision.  Perfect for remaining hidden; he could walk down now straight away without trouble!

Well if Vimes would stop staring at that ladder and use it already.

Why was Vimes not utilising that ladder?

That was a perfectly good ladder!  Vitali froze as the man turned, walked around to the next ladder ninety degrees away.  Was he searching for footprints?  Vitali gazed, wide eyed at his own tracks.  How could something so deliciously ruining be so helpful in the hands of some people?!  It was infuriating!  Determinedly Vitali grabbed at his bag, fingers closing around the meat hook.  Maybe it would be of use after all.  Vimes was at the ladder he had gone down, that opened directly to the entrance to the inside of the Spire.  He would see the prints, would follow them, would know.  He would fail, would be ridiculed, would be erased.

Vitali sprang to the top of the platform just as Vimes peered over the edge again, sprinting to behind him, meathook tearing up, meeting resistance, pushing through.  Leather, cotton, skin, flesh, at last bone.  Before him Vimes wobbled, teetering on the edge but somehow falling _back_.  Vitali finally shoved him forwards, and he landed on the snow below, that now began to sup the crimson nectar from him.  One less distraction.

No, he couldn’t risk this again.  If someone such as Vimes could notice the smoke so quickly, who could say whether others would come to investigate too?  He shouldn’t try his luck.  Perhaps if he had any interferences safely out of the way or alongside him then he could achieve this with less trouble.  He would consult his master at nightfall.

***

_Oh so quiet is the night, how calm and how wonderful.  Oh how it changes our hearts and fools our minds.  How many impossible deeds have taken place in the unwaking hours of pitch, when we truly are blind to the consequences of our actions?_

**Sometime around a fortnight earlier**

“And so you _still_ have not given me success?” hissed the figure in the mist disbelievingly.  “You are running out of time to stay in my favour.”

“I apologise, my lord,” begged Vitali, bowing so his forehead was almost pressed against the ground and eyes filling with grit.  “A little more time if you would be so gracious.”  An idea roused itself from slumber in his mind.  “Would it be presumptuous to assume you would be pleased with the death of all the skylords along with information of this ‘Power of Skyhold’?”

“The death of the skylords?”  Those less acquainted with the Sand God could be fooled that the noise they now heard was that of a dry chuckle.  “You really believe you are capable?”

Vitali paused; to get this wrong would be suicide, yet to stand by and do nothing, claim nothing, _that_ would be negligence.  But no; he had delayed enough to fall out of favour still by completing such a menial task as gathering information.  “I believe I am, my lord.”

“Very well.  By all means, _prove_ this to me.”  The face dissipated and the underground burrow was plunged into a warmer darkness.  There were many ways that perhaps this affair could’ve fared better.  For example, succeeding initially rather than proposing destroying people who had accepted his presence.  Killing innocent civilians was by far a more simple process than killing those who knew him and were sympathetic to him.  All by their loss of course, but it was rather more inconvenient to kill people who themselves had helped him learn the art.  Maybe a fool might spy sentimentality; he of _course_ would brush it off, like dirt as he broke into cool moonlight.  Ah, the mirror image of such a deadly weapon no longer could harm oneself.  Unless of course making oneself wax into poetry at a whim could be counted as harmful.  Vitali had more faith in his language than that, of course.  Footsteps tinkled over frost nearby, barely audible over the rush of the river of thawing snow, and the skylord rapidly arranged the turf sheltering the entrance to the hideaway and nonchalantly sidestepped to the path heading away from the Central Spire as if nothing was more reasonable for him to do.

“Who goes there: friend or foe?” came the warning call.  Forward and to his left if Vitali was no mistaken.

“’Tis but a friend!” Vitali called back in a bored tone.  The other man, the one on patrol seemed to recognise his voice and hurried towards him, skipping up the hill two steps at a time.  Really this was rather dangerous for any human; it was plenty dark and exceedingly slippery, with both ice and half melted ice alike.  The fed up features of Skylord James appeared in overly high contrast in the mercurial light.

“And what in the name of all things holy are you doing out in the middle of a freezing cold night?” asked James with a yawn.  He was shivering despite his wearing what at first glance appeared to be three coats and upon closer inspection was quite clearly four.

“Are you sure _you_ should be the one asking that question?” retorted Vitali, feigning upmost concern.  “I would’ve thought you should be in bed right now, not out on a night watch.”

“Yeah, well it’s on Skylord Baako’s orders.  And don’t dodge the question!”

“If I am being forced to by a madman’s orders then let it be so,” Vitali said with an exaggerated sigh.  “I was merely filing last minute paperwork to avoid the wrath of one Skylord Amber in the morning.”

James’ stare indicated he didn’t believe a word for it.  “It’s past midnight.”

“As I believe I said, it’s rather last minute.”

“So you thought _now_ would be a good time to complete it?”

“Dear me, James, I could swear you sound just like the woman herself!”  Success; James looked uncomfortable at the comparison.

“I’m just warning you, that I’ll have to report all this back at some point, and I’ll get shouted at for waking someone up to report you now, and shouted at for not waking anybody up and not reporting you now.  Either way, I’m getting shouted at so you better be pretty damn grievous already.”

“You are in fact missing out the most obvious option in this situation, James.”

“And that would be what, Skylord Vitali?”

Vitali allowed himself to deliberate a little, listening to the scuff, scuff, scuff, of James kicking his foot on the ground.  “Just don’t report me at all.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me; _that_ is your solution?”

“A fair solution in my eyes!  No use fuelling the paranoia of an old man, nor encouraging unfair discipline, so why bother?  This world would be better without such injustice!”

A silence ensued for James to mull the new proposal over.   “If,” he muttered, “you _promise_ that you really are out here to drop off late paperwork and you promise not to mention this to Skylord Baako or Skylord Amber, then I guess I’ll keep quiet.”

“Oh, you have my word,” simpered Vitali.  Finally the blonde skylord nodded and turned away, urging him to return to his own residence and get some rest.

What a blithering idiot.  Maybe Vitali wouldn’t need him out of the way at all.  For now at least.  He could remain an afterthought, and with any luck even an accomplice in some form, perhaps even taking a potential fall.  Eventually he would have to go of course, if his own favour was to be paid.  But that would be a matter for later.

***

_Again, again, the wheel of fate turns ever in one direction.  No stone jars it, no pothole sinks it, no road can weather its spokes.  We can try to change our paths, our tracks over its surface, but will it ever really change?  The world will continue to play out after all._

**A day or two earlier:**

Vitali sighed, slumping his shoulder and pushing himself to his feet.  The pouch round his midriff clacked with tired glowstone pebbles.  More time needed, ever more time needed.  While he knew his life would be at stake as long as the others lived, he was not so stupid and inefficient in spirit to throw away his life to achieve this.  His death was precisely what he was trying to avoid.

Yes, that was most definitely the _only_ thing stopping him from reaching his goal.  Only a fool would think anything else.

He arose to the sight of the night sky blotted with clouds, drizzle forming a slight mist and obscuring the horizon.  Only a few seconds of reordering passed before an all too familiar voice cried,

“Who goes there: friend or foe?”

“’Tis but a friend!”  Stock question with a stock reply: overreliance on acquaintances as per usual.  Tonight was not a night for interruptions.  Not again.  James trotted over to below the tree where he stood.

“Skylord Vitali?  I thought we’d been through all of this already!”

“And would you still rather be indoors out of the cold and wet?” pressed Vitali.  This was the second time this week.

“Well yes; and once _again_ stop dodging the question!”

“You haven’t actually asked me an answerable question yet,” pointed out Vitali, crossing his arms and kicking some turf back into place behind him.  “So I have no idea how you expect me to reasonably give you a sound reply.”

James gave a non-veiled glare and strode closer.  “ _No one_ needs to ‘hand in last minute paperwork’ _this_ often,” he hissed, desperately trying to look like he knew what he was doing.  Vitali was faintly aware that if the man took one more step forward he would likely slip on a wet patch of mud near the entrance and knock him over, possibly exposing the large hole; but he was unlikely to come nearer, with James looking as purely panicked as he was trying to hide.

“What can I say?  My organisational skills must really be suffering with the weather!” he drawled in response.  A disbelieving look met his eyes, only slightly distilled with fear.  Apparently he should begin to change his tune.  He was quite certain that any trust between them to get this far without alerting either Baako or Amber was quite strong enough to make a few adjustments in his tactics.  “Very well; if you are so insistent then I will tell you my reasoning.”  James’ eyes opened a little wider than before.  “If you promise you will continue to keep this meeting a secret from any other prying eyes and ears.”

A pause, then, “I trust you.”  Perfect; Vitali stopped himself giving the other a cat smile, and proceeded to wander back along the path to his own residence, grabbing James’ wrist and tugging him gently along

“Where are we-”

“This is not a conversation to be overheard.”

“But I need to-”

“If you are referring to your patrol, I hardly think the space of a few minutes is enough for Skyhold to fall from the sky.”

“Even so-”

“If anyone asks, I will happily testify that I saw you pass my window while I was pouring myself a drink.  If you can back up this claim, then they cannot reasonably doubt you.”  The unlocked door opened with a click, closed behind them with a click too.  He didn’t want eavesdroppers.  “Please, by all means take a seat.”  Unsure of himself, James stumbled over to a sofa, sighing lightly as he sunk into it.

“So why _do_ I keep bumping into you outside at night?” asked James lightly, stifling a rather large yawn.

Vitali smiled and sat next to him, watching his face carefully.  “In all honesty?” he smiled, not sure if the other man would be bleary eyed enough to believe such blatant lies.  “I am searching for information.  I have my doubts about the integrity of some upon Skyhold.”  James looked aside then back at his face.

“Anyone in particular?”  Voice already strained with desperation; this could well be easier than expected.

“Why?  Do you have your own doubts?”

Eagerly the blonde man nodded.  “Of Skylord Baako actually.”

“Ah, then we are in the same mindset!”

Another nod, he was relaxing, more comfortable, becoming hyperactive once more and flicking his gaze all over the place.  “I’m sure he’s hiding something, but I don’t know what it is.  But yeah, he _has_ to be covering something up.  I mean, I gave him a note from Skylord Lysander and _obviously_ he thought it was important but he completely clammed up about it!  Come on!

“Wait you don’t think the two of them are actually working against us?  I mean, what if...”

“I have to agree to your suspicions, my friend.”  _“How tired is he?  Or how long were these feelings brewing?”_ “I have no doubt that Baako is hiding something of great importance, though it would be rash to act just yet.”

“But we should keep an eye on him, right?”

“Of course.”  Vitali sighed in relief, stood and offered his hand.  Grinning madly, James shook it.

“Thanks so much; I thought I was alone in not being carried along by the old man’s schemes!”

“One who has faith in his own beliefs is never alone, James.”  The blonde raised an eyebrow in mock scepticism.

“Is that your own saying, or are you just quoting someone?”

“My own, of course.”  Vitali looked solemnly out the window.  “Though now perhaps you should return to your post on the night watch.  It would not do for you to tangle with a man who cannot be trusted.”  Nodding again James leapt up with renewed vigour, forgotten fatigue, and jauntily walked to the door.

He turned back for an instance, still smiling.  “Once again, thanks.”

“It is only the proper thing to do.  Good night.”

***

_Really aren’t we all false?  We can never show our true natures, with our true faults.  In the eyes of others we must all be perfect, polite and with due charm.  As if anyone could be real!  Never trust those you believe are good; you lie to others, and they lie to you._

Daylight broke and the sun rose to the epitome of the heavens, shades of grey entering and obscuring sight.  Vitali stood silently behind the open door to Amber’s Skyhold residence, listening hard.  Eavesdropping was such a harsh word for the act, really.  In a rush Baako stormed through the doorway, quickly followed by Amber.  The heavy door remained still and open, the giddy voices of Horus and Finnigan drifting out.  Another few minutes passed and they too left the house.  Well he supposed there would be little point right now in pursuing either of them; Finnigan would be preoccupied and unlikely to reveal information, and he had no intention of going near Horus.  Perhaps he would simply retire for a while.

He was interrupted by his thoughts rather abruptly by a bouncing purple figure bounding up behind him.

“Hey Vitali!” the figure giggled, pausing, tilting its head.  “Why are you standing next to a door?  This isn’t your place, right?”

Vitali fought to keep his expression neutral.  “Of course not.  You know that!”

The little skylord had stepped in front of him, nudging the door closed.  “Um, then... why are you standing here?”

“Hm?”  Vitali blinked, trying to find an excuse and flailing.  “I was...  I was looking for Skylord Amber actually.”  Gritted teeth, crocodile smiles.  The little one’s face fell, then looked aside and swung his foot back and forth.

“Well she ran past,” he admitted.  “But she looked busy.  Not sure what with, but real busy!”  Nervously he stilled his boot.  “But ‘till she’s _not_ busy, can we have lunch together?”  Hopeful smile, hopeful eyes.  For pity’s sake this was ridiculously unfair!

“Fine,” Vitali grumbled in reply.

“Oh, but the water isn’t working at my place,” murmured the skylord.  “So can we go to yours instead?”

“In short, you’re not eating at all today unless you go to someone else’s residence.”

“Yep!”  Innocent smile, hidden thoughts.  Nevertheless he agreed, his new companion skipping ahead.

***

_The subtlety of words are a blessing, more so how they can mean so much or so little, how they change so often, and how much they can reveal or hide.  Words could destroy an empire and rebuild one anew, colour in a population of millions or indeed brush them all aside.  Then again, actions can make a much larger difference, if they are well placed, and if you have few enemies._

“You go ahead to the meeting already; I’ll stay and clean up a little first.”Relieved grin, happy carefree steps. 

To think Amber was calling a meeting so soon; he’d expected it by tomorrow perhaps but not in a matter of hours.  Was the old man so worried?  He was quite alone now.  Quite perfectly alone.  Rolling his eyes he dumped the dishes and cups on a countertop and stalked outside.  He did need to clean up, clearly.  Horus rushed past him, not looking at who he nearly bumped into.  Typical.  Counting buildings to knock on the door of the correct one was soothing.  Thankfully came the call almost instantly of,

“Come in!”  Finnigan looked up expectantly before returning to neutral.  “Oh, it’s you Vitali.”

“Were you expecting someone else?”  Barely concealed spite was a wonderful thing indeed.

“Well no but-”  He cut himself off suddenly, shaking his head and tapping an ink pen on a sheet of paper on his writing desk.  “What d’ya want anyway?  Actually I guess I’m probably late huh?  Ugh, I gotta get a watch at some point.”  Vitali chuckled lightly.

“Well I can’t deny that fact, though it is not why I am here.”  He licked his lips.  “I should like to know what you are going to say to the others once you have sorted yourself out.”

“Eh?”  Finnigan looked up, frustration and confusion playing over his features.  “Look, Vitali, just go tell Amber I’ll be a while.  I ain’t done writing everything up yet!”  Wordlessly Vitali strolled around the desk as Finnigan glared back at his writing and tried desperately to ignore him.  Removing the sword was noiseless.  Carefully did he retreat to behind the other skylord, peering over his shoulder at the writing.

Indeed, this would be troubling if what he’d pieced together was revealed to his colleagues.  Whether in the written word or the spoken.  Maybe trust would be too much of an issue in such a short window of time.  Yes, he’d been here too long already and now was too good an opportunity to pass.

“Vitali, can you please leave me alone!”  Arms drawn round, chair pulled away, no struggle, no words, a single thrust and the moving stopped, replaced only with shallow gasps and a head that had fallen to wood.  Smiling Vitali whisked away the report, folded it and placed it into his pocket, ran from the house with risen hood to ‘clean up’.

***

_Trust: so easily bonded and so easily broken, means so much and so little, pure and yet abused.  Trust will always remain a tool, and nothing more, for who can truly say where our own is founded?_

**Present day:**

James sat shocked next to him, staring at the burnt piece of paper, still covered with Finnigan’s hand.

“In Skylord Baako’s fireplace?” he repeated, unbelievingly.  “He did a _terrible_ job of burning evidence!”

“You make that sound almost admirable, James.”  Neither man laughed.

_ON MY MOST RECENT JOURNEY TO MISTRAL CITY I FOUND IT BURNT TO THE GROUND; WITHIN THE CITY WALLS I FOUND THE FOLLOWING STRONG EVIDENCE THAT THE CULPRIT WAS NONE OTHER THAN SKYLORD LYSAND-_

The paper cut off quickly, blackened edges blending with ink.  Nothing more surviving but instead held to the mercy of yet more flames.  Who the flames belonged to was a matter impossible to decide.  Since when did the mindless release of energy ‘belong’ to anyone?

“To think he would be driven to murder,” breathed James.  “And yet go on and on about ‘respecting your elders’ and all that crap.  How the hell does he expect us to respect a murderer?”  Suddenly he looked up at Vitali, eyes still and focussed.  “Wait, we should tell the others about this; what if he tries again?  After all, someone could oppose him, even by accident like Finnigan.”

“Well who’s left here?” said Vitali grimly.  “Amber would never go against him, Horus likewise through his sister.”

“What about the other one?  You know, the little one who I probably should be able to remember the name of...”

“He is incapable of harming a butterfly.  Trust me, I’ve seen him put away his sword entirely because one flapped up to him while he was practicing duelling.”

“Yeah,” shrugged James, “but who would try and hurt a butterfly?”

“You sound like Horus when you say that.”  The blonde looked uncomfortable again.

“Well at least I don’t wear a silly hat all the time.”  By now he was staring back into his lap.

“True.  But it seems we have become distracted.”  Vitali smiled gently.  “I am proposing that we take Baako down ourselves, in secret.  The others will see sense eventually, though we should make sure they too are convinced enough who the real villain is.”

“Right, right, right,” mumbled James.  “But if this goes wrong it’ll be what, two against four?”  His stare could’ve burned a hole in his trousers.  “I don’t fancy trying to fight against an elder, a loose wire and a couple of prodigies.  Why do we hire such an eclectic mix anyway?”

“Your guess is as good as mine my friend,” Vitali admitted.  What would be the best way to convince someone who had suddenly applied rational thought?  He paused; he knew a way, though he may be punished by his own master for it, and if he ended up out of his depth he would receive death also.  And to make James agree?  Nigh impossible.  “There is a way to improve your strength, you know.”  _What was he doing?_

“Oh, then please do share it with the person it entails.”

“I do not know how you would react to me saying this however...”  _Madness: idiocy and madness.  Wording it carefully?_

“Look, I can obviously trust you more than anyone else in this place.”

“Then perhaps I should confess something to you-”

“As long as you never phrase it as ‘confessing’ ever again then sure – I’ve known certain clowns round here for too long to ever here that damn word ever again comfortably.”  How any man could interrupt in such an infuriating manner was totally beyond him.

“Very well.  Let me advise you on something instead; I don’t believe two _humans_ could take down another four.”

“I’m guessing I should be expressing concern about the stress on the word ‘humans’ there?”

“Concern if you must.”

“Right.  So you’re suggesting we should both stop being _human_.”  He was more oblivious than previously thought; Vitali needn’t mention that he was actually fuelling ideas.  “Okay where the hell do you go from there?!”

“I have a way to stop us both being human, to put it simply.”  James didn’t appear to doubt him, eyes instead flicking over to the window, frowning, swivelling back round.

“That’s possible?” edged the other skylord cautiously.  “While retaining clear minds, original personalities and all that?”

Vitali shrugged.  “Oh perfectly well.”  To think the man had no idea what was going on: a laughable state of affairs indeed!

“How do you know?” he asked suspiciously.  Maybe he had a better idea of what was going on than previously suspected.

“Please believe me when I say there are many reasons I am aware of this and many more dreadful memories too closely associated with them to recall the exact facts.”  Surprisingly this was working.

“Ah, then I apologise,” muttered James, blushing a little.  “But what does all this actually involve?”

Vitali paused a moment, the silence sweet as he thought.  Phrasing was everything here after all; phrasing put everything he’d worked on at stake so soon.  “An injection of a drug near the brain,” he decided on at last.  “I have things prepared, though it may be painful.”  _Look up, smile._   “After some rest you are blessed with longer life, near invulnerability, keener senses; you are swifter and lighter, stronger and more powerful.”  _Watch his earnest face set hard._  “For a single night of pain you will be in better condition for the rest of your existence.”  _Change your expression in determination._ “The effects will give protection against even the most able of our colleagues.”  _Watch as he is taken in entirely._ “We will find our own justice, comrade.”  _Give a final grin; you’ve won this battle._

“You swear you’re speaking the truth?” grimaced James, a final doubt leaving his tone.  In a sense Vitali was not lying in the slightest.  He needn’t know _all_ the truths however; eventually he would need to be destroyed along with the rest.

“Of course.”  Vitali could laugh at the man’s ignorance.  He stood, walked to his own kitchen, fumbled in cupboards, retrieved a tiny glass bottle, poured a few drops to a cup, filled cup with water, handed the concoction to the skylord whose face was adorned with unspoken questions.

“A sleeping draught,” answered Vitali, not waiting for James to voice a single word.  “I mentioned before that the transition is painful, did I not?  This should help to ease it therefore.”  James nodded, staring at the ceramic cup.  Vitali could see the cup vibrating minutely; so he was still scared?  “Or would you rather be slaughtered by Baako and those he has deceived?”

James drank and the cup was dropped to the floor.

Vitali leaned forwards, giddy in spirit, too close to hysterical for his own liking.  Hand taken, head pulled back, the slam of the door.

“Vitali, what are you doing?”  A scared voice, young enough only for one person.  Head jerked away, whole body sprung to feet, steps crossing the room.

“What are you doing here?”  A quick motion, easily enough to pull the intruder into the house.  Boy stilled, smile pushed upon face, frightened whimpers in the air.

“I just came to see-”  A terrified glance, wide eyed and stunned at the interior.  Cup cracked, body twisted, James lying unconscious barely breathing.

“Well you saw nothing.”

“I saw-”

“Nothing.”  Nothing, could not see, eyes all seeing, never again, what else had they seen so far,  must be stopped, all knowing, must never know, should not be happening.

Should not be happening.

_Should not be happening._

Boy directed away, to door, to outside, to light, to life.  Hands creeping around throat, over mouth, over nose, over eyes.  Could not see again, must not see again, will not see again!  Through door, to outside, in light, with life no longer.  Breath, sound, sight no more.  No more.

_...I popped his eyes and drank the goo..._


	4. Chapter 4: Devices

_Clouds, always able to shroud life in mist and shelter us from harsh realities, harsh truths, and the glare of the judging eyes in the heavens.  Should we not praise bad weather?  After all, we would never aim to put our day to day on a pedestal, to carry out our livelihoods onstage for the world to observe, to try.  So carry on raining I say, carry on; I don’t need honesty._

James blinked, forcing open sticky eyelids to peek into unfamiliar surroundings.  Whose bed was this anyway?  Actually more to the point, whose house was this?

James blinked again, harder this time, and trying to get the idea _out_ of his head that he had just walked into one of Skylord Jasper’s _hilarious_ adventures.  He sat up, head throbbing and throat burning.  Well he should think what had happened as far as he could remember, _obviously_ , and piece together a coherent memory.  Well he didn’t remember drinking much, so _probably_ wasn’t experiencing a hangover, and he couldn’t think of anyone currently on Skyhold who would try to spike his drink if he _did_ have anything to drink at all.  He looked out the window; it was around midday.  Unfortunately the window was small and curtained and didn’t show the sun, but the colour of the sky was telling enough.  Well he said the colour of the sky; it appeared to be an exceedingly dull day.  Little light spilled in and even his sleeve seemed to lose some of its green pigmentation.  How wonderful.  He yawned, wincing as the tip of his tongue brushed against his teeth.  Something felt very sharp.  Huh.  Maybe he had fainted and fallen over and whacked his mouth on something to leave a chipped tooth.  Was there a mirror in here to check this out?  James stared right and left: no, no mirror.  How wonderful.  Apparently someone was coming up some stairs, soft footsteps approaching the door.  Creak.  Oh, it was Vitali.  This would probably be his house then.  How wonderful.

Ah.  He remembered what happened.  Yes, he’d... decided to _stop_ being human to take down Baako and his minions with minimal trouble; he was pretty sure that was his logic.  Didn’t sound much like him usually though.  But he supposed people reacted strangely when sure those they’d respected had betrayed them.  And were dog tired.  Yes, he could trust Skylord Vitali.

“Are you alright, James?” worried Vitali from the doorway.  James nodded in response.  “May I come in?”

“This is your own house, you know.”  The other man – no, not a _man_ any more, but something else – looked embarrassed and walked stiffly over to stand by the bed.

“Force of habit,” he mumbled under his breath.  James fought back a giggle; he was aware that Vitali was known to often be awkwardly formal, but then again, wasn’t it better to be too formal than too informal (though some he could mention highly disagreed on that point)?

“I do have a bit of a headache,” admitted James, jerking his head to clear the spots of sleep at the edges of his vision.  Nearby Vitali smiled in agreement and gestured for James to follow him back downstairs.  “I don’t suppose you have a mirror somewhere?” asked the blonde skylord casually.

“Oh, no; I never felt the need for one,” rushed Vitali.  Well it _sounded_ rushed, yet somehow incredibly deliberate.  Was that the effect of rehearsing?  Wouldn’t that mean he somehow knew James might ask for a mirror?  No that was ridiculous.  Besides, a little voice in his head he never realised he had before was assuring him that distrust was pointless.  Yes, yes it was, of course.

“How the hell do you do your hair and everything every morning then?”

Vitali turned his head minutely momentarily, before staring back down the staircase.  “I manage.”

Oh good, they’d reached downstairs.  He’d been here yesterday if he remembered correctly, as he was sure he did.  Silently Vitali stalked to the kitchen and pulled out two mugs; he fiddled with things in cupboards, out of sight of James.

“Now the purpose of this whole affair, headaches and all is to finish off Baako, correct?” spoke Vitali at last, breaking the comfortable silence James really could’ve got used to.  And there he was, thinking only _Amber_ would dare to discuss work the second he’d woken up.

“’Finish off’?  I thought we only needed to incapacitate him.  I don’t know, we could bring up the evidence we’ve found so far and expel him from Minecraftia?”  How wonderful; the older skylord was looking at him as if he was insane.

“I thought I’d outlined this,” he growled predatorily.  “That would require the aid of people who would stick by his side to the end.  It seems changing state really has put you out of form.”

“I do have _some_ faith in Skylord Amber at least-”

“Are you trying to say I’m wrong for seeking justice?”  Was he?  “He has blood on his hands, my friend.”  Yes, yes of course.  No this was _definitely_ the best solution; the voice in his head was telling him so and he definitely trusted himself.

“But to kill him would put blood on our hands, right?”

“Not if he himself is to blame!”  James looked up, making eye contact.  Was it just him, or did the other’s eyes look a little redder than usual; the irises looked almost bloody.  A small patch of sunshine broke through the curtained window, and the effect dissipated.  “Maybe the _gentlemanly_ thing to do would be to _offer_ his death.  If he is anywhere near as noble as people make him out to be then he will admit the errs of his own way and promptly permit proper retribution.”

“And if he refuses?”

Skylord Vitali paused for a moment, ducking back down to rummage in more cupboards.  “Then maybe we’ll try _your_ method.”  The pure _spite_ as he said those words was unimaginable; no, his inner judgement was saying that he must just have a headache.  No, his inner judgement had a point – who wouldn’t be irritable mere hours after being changed from human to... not human.  Maybe he should flag that point up with his new partner-in-justice.  What _were_ they at this point in time?  He could ask when his friend had become used to being whatever they were now!  “It just so happens I have a bottle of lethal poison in my cupboard, soluble in water that only decomposes if in contact with metal.  Rather violently in fact.  Any iron, gold or otherwise causes the substance to explode.”

“You ‘just so happen’ to have that, Skylord Vitali?” James drawled in a monotone.  Damn; if his head voice wasn’t so loud this would all be seeming incredibly suspicious.  “How the hell does one ‘just so happen’ to have a deadly poison in their kitchen cupboard?!”  Vitali shot him a death glare.  Wait, he had a deadly poison in his kitchen cupboard; unless he really wanted to die a futile death via said deadly poison he probably shouldn’t cross paths with him too much.

“I have my ways, James.”  Before that day James would never believe it was possible for people’s eyes to actually flash in malevolence.  Right, right, right, right.  Don’t question poison, you will incur wrath.  The passing sunlight from outside finally vanished and the unlit room was plunged back into easy to see in gloom.

“So it’s merely a matter of presenting it to him?”

“Not quite.”  Oh for fuck’s sake what now?  “The human body also has a habit of _rejecting_ this particular poison.”

“Drug it then,” murmured James, yawning.  He never realised quite how boring treason was.  He knew it would be complicated of course, but not anywhere near this mind-numbingly _dull_.

“Drug it?”

“Sedate Baako so his body can’t throw it up or whatever like it would otherwise.”  Good; Vitali looked surprised in a relatively good way.

“I was thinking we could just get him to swallow some metal before any untoward reactions occur-”

“Which is easier: making an old man swallow a spoon while he is vomiting, or just putting a sedative in with the poison to begin with?  You decide.”  Oh bugger; a know-it-all glint had returned to the other’s eye.

“And what about this mysterious sedative you speak of?” sneered Vitali.  Was this even the same person who James was pretty sure had called him ‘comrade’ before he was knocked out?  “Where would we come across such a thing?”

“There _is_ a hospital up here you know-”

“No anaesthetic at the current time; I am prepared enough to check.”

“What?  _Why_?”

“Do not doubt my methods.”  Yeah, some methods.  What was he even planning to do; drug Baako’s food and stab him in his induced slumber?  That would mean the ‘honourable’ idea was a second option.  Apparently he was conspiring with a psychopath; how bloody wonderful.

“Fine.”  _Think damn it._ “I suppose any opiate would suffice and that is all too easy to find.”

“I said the hospital had none!”

“And I said _any_ opiate: not just the standard morphine given here.  Plain opium would work.”

“Opium,” Vitali laughed disbelievingly.

“Yes.”

“On Skyhold.”

“Yes.”

“Where Amber is currently located.”

“I won’t doubt your methods, so please don’t doubt mine, Skylord Vitali.”  Well he looked suitably rattled at _that_ line.  Maybe he’d get a word in edgeways.  “I know that at this precise moment in time Skylord Horus has a stash.”

Vitali raised a confused eyebrow.  “Does _Horus_ smoke opium now?”

“No,” dismissed James happily, really enjoying this now.  “As far as I am aware Skylord Jasper is the only one to smoke the stuff.  However, a while ago Skylord Lysander tipped off Skylord Amber that there was opium stashed in Skylord Jasper’s residence on Skyhold.  As such Skylord Amber confiscated the opium and, not really knowing what to do with it seeing as burning it all would produce incredibly unwanted results she hung on to it in her own residence.  Considering Skylord Horus shares this residence it was a terrible idea and he soon stole it back and hung onto it, vowing to hand it over to Skylord Jasper the next time he saw him.  That has yet to happen, but as neither Skylord Amber nor Skylord Lysander have gotten wind of these newest developments and no one else actually cares, nothing more has happened to it.”  He looked up smiling at Vitali’s open-mouthed expression and tried not to giggle.

“I had no idea the politics between the rest of you was so complicated,” he mumbled to himself below his breath, before lifting his head and readjusting his features into a scowl.  “And you believe you can use this to our advantage?”

“Oh, quite easily,” said James, _trying_ not to sing out the sentence.  “I’ll just need to talk to Skylord Horus!”

“Very well,” conceded the darker headed skylord, fumbling in the cupboard _again_ as James jumped to his feet.  What else did he have in there?  Explosives?  Cannons?  Planes, maybe?  “Meet me back here once you have succeeded.”

“Certainly.”

***

_Keep a cool facade no matter your anger, your misery, your joy.  Never show that you can be manipulated or that you may falter.  Soon enough you will not need the front at all; wouldn’t it be wonderful not to pretend anymore?_

 “’Sup James,” cried Horus, sitting on the steps with his back showing and lowering... whatever the hell he was looking at.

“Horus, you haven’t even looked at me and I haven’t said anything,” grumbled James, walking up next to him and crouching down onto the steps, cold and slick with damp.  “So how the hell did you know it was me?”

“Guessed,” muttered Horus, once again raising the object in his hands and glaring at it a little harder.  Ah, it was a book, and looking at the open pages it was pretty obvious it was a crime novel.  Forensics and initial investigations didn’t come up in such great detail in other genres.  Horus was on page... 8.  Wow.  With a huff Horus shut the book and tossed it onto the sandstone by his foot.  “S’not the same without Finnigan,” he sighed.  “Dunno how he reads so many of these things and has time to do anything else.”

“Like he always took care to explain the plot to you when you kept badgering him?” James chuckled.  Horus winced as he heard the past tense.  Oops.  Well to be fair Finnigan had been murdered all of three days ago by his reckoning, even if it seemed far too much had happened in the time between then and the present.  Maybe Skylord Vitali had been wrong; the man sitting next to him now must surely be putting the fact that his friend had been murdered _way_ above any alliance with Baako.  Perhaps he should be told, involved; he would want to avenge Finnigan, right?  Horus stared back down at the closed book, eyes threatening to well with tears.  Actually, _no_ , _definitely_ time to change the subject instead.  Mentioning Finnigan’s death appeared to be a sure fire way of causing a breakdown.

James felt a shiver pass through his arms and down his back, and he looked over at Horus, who was wearing his jacket undone.  “Aren’t you cold?” asked James, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers.  While most of the snow had melted by now, one could still see their breath hanging in the grey air as they talked on the dank steps leading up to the Central Spire.  Horus looked round at him looking utterly perplexed.  Wonderful; why was _everyone_ looking at him like he belonged in an asylum today?

“Why would I be cold?” grinned Horus, tapping the weird cap covering his hair.  “I have _this_ and it keeps me plenty warm.  You know, you should try getting one.”

James begged to differ.  Even with however many percent of body heat being lost through the head, that hat was most assuredly _not_ enough to keep anyone warm.  And he would look ridiculous in a hat, end of story.  “Still, I thought you felt the cold easily?”  His voice quickly trailed off at another withering look.

“No, that’s just you and Jasper; my name doesn’t start with a ‘J’ so that’s probably it.”  A beat passed.  “Were you mixing me up with Jasper?”  Oh.  His protests were soon cut off again by Horus continuing, “Come off it!  We are completely different people!  I for one am much older and wiser.”

“ _Wiser_?” scoffed James, shifting his rear which felt like it was morphing into a block of ice.  “Horus, you still live with your sister, while Jasper owns half the businesses over in Mistral.  _Owned_ even.”

“Well either way,” he harrumphed, glaring at James – at least he wasn’t fixated on the book any more.  “You have to admit we are completely different.”  Back to this point then.

“You are both complete clowns though,” pointed out James.

“Yeah, but technically you could use that argument for mixing up me and _Baako_.”

“Nah, combination’s different.”  Horus looked at him expectantly.  “I thought I’d told you this before.  I swear every single skylord ever to have passed the Trials ends up as either a ‘worker bee’, a ‘class clown’, or a ‘wunderkind’, or some combination of two.”

“That is insane,” muttered Horus.

“Maybe, but it _works_.  Apparently those are the only traits that carry people through training, but it’s pretty easy to work out why that is-”

“Have you actually gone to the effort of writing all this down in an essay somewhere?”

_Slow down and consider your answer._ “Maybe.”

“Yep, _insane_.”  Horus glared at his lap and crossed his legs.  “It’s much easier just to realise that everyone is part of some sort of straight-man/funny-man deal.”

“You’re saying my theory is insane and yours isn’t?” sighed the blonde skylord, removing his hands from his pockets momentarily in sole order to cover his face.

“Well other than you, everyone fits the mould perfectly.”  James gave an inquiring look through a couple of spread fingers.  Horus poked his shoulder.  “You’re too short.”

“What.”

“Well usually the straight-man is the tall one, right?  But you’re _way_ too tiny for that.”

“I hate you so much.”

“It works for everyone else though.”  Was he even listening to him or just rambling on?  Probably better than him bawling his eyes out, James supposed.  Barely.  “Jasper and Lysander, just about Baako and my sis – thank goodness for old people shrinking – and Vitali and... Brick.”  Horus scrunched his face up in thought.

“I don’t remember a Skylord Brick,” chuckled James.

“No, I just can’t remember his name, so I said the name of the first thing I saw.”  Oh, did he mean _that_ guy...? Wait, James couldn’t recall his name either.  Wonderful.  “I think he said his name meant ‘milk’ in some language?”

Wait a minute, what?  “No, he said ‘essence of life’.”

“Exactly: milk.”

“Milk is not the essence of life, Horus.”  Said man was currently giving him a hard and patronising stare.  James wilted a little inside.  Did glares like that run in the family or something?  “Think about it; that would mean anyone who was lactose intolerant would be allergic to life.  In other words they would have no state other than dead.”

“Well that’d be true if they tried to drink milk.”

“You’re an idiot,” breathed James, returning his hands to the warm confines of his trouser pockets, his words drifting into a fine mist.  Damn it, it was _freezing_.  His left hand brushed over a small key.  Of course; he’d come here with a purpose which was _not_ to sit around chatting with a lovable imbecile (emphasis on the latter descriptor).  He had a key to Horus’ residence; Horus had left one at his place ages ago and he had forgotten to return it.  However when he arrived at the empty building he’d found that he couldn’t bring himself to just walk in.  Vitali’s _“may I come in?”_ felt a little more relatable now.  But a force of habit?  Strange.  James was having trouble working around that one.  You can’t have a force of habit in a matter of hours, though whatever strangely specific manners he had picked up had arrived in them.  “Actually I came to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”  James mentally gulped; he did _not_ want extra attention drawn to the plans.  Vitali had stated that clearly enough.  But he preferably didn’t want to demolish his pride either.  No, his judgement agreed with Vitali: far more important a task.

James lowered his voice, eyes flicking around.  No one else was nearby.  “I don’t suppose you’ve still got some of that opium?”  He winced as he felt his voice starting to squeak.  And now the ‘are you mad?!’ look was back on Horus’ face.  Just bloody wonderful.

“Did I hear that right?” worried Horus, leaning in a little, shifting his position and uncrossing his legs.  “You want _opium_?  Man, I didn’t realise all this was screwing you up quite so badly.”  _Swallow your pride, James, and watch others’ opinions of you wash down the drain._ “You sure as heck don’t show it.”

This was a full grown man.  Full grown men should not look so pitiful when on the brink of tears.  “I...”  No, James’ voice was failing him.  Wordlessly Horus sighed and got to his feet, picking up the book he’d left on the floor and tucking it carefully under his arm.  Still wordlessly – knowing Horus, this feat alone must have caused him pain – he tugged on James’ coat sleeve, pulling him up and making him follow him.  “Horus, if you’re dragging me off to Skylord Amber or Skylord Baako, I’ll have you know I am unwilling to talk to either of them.”

“Why?”  Flat, monotone question there.  Unusually flat and monotone.  But accompanied by a flash of inspiration on James’ part at least.  It was rather a good use of the situation, if he did say so himself.

“I want to handle this on my own,” explained James, folding his arms, forcing his voice to crack.  “Like you are.”

“What?” exclaimed Horus, relinquishing the hold on his sleeve and fiddling with the pages of the tome he held.  “What the heck are you talking about?”

“The book you’re trying to read at the moment,” stated James, watching and inwardly grinning at his friend’s suddenly shocked expression.  “You don’t want to go to your sister for help do you?  So you’re attempting to show that you _don’t_ need comforting by doing things that should be dredging up memories that would make you feel really sad in the here and now!”  Horus sheepishly glanced away, kicking one foot on the sandstone.

“You know, maybe you should become a crime novelist James,” whispered Horus gloomily.  “That’s a really complicated way of thinking about it.”  James blinked.

“Does that mean I was right?” he asked, tentatively.  Wow, he had only _guessed_.  _The_ man now half facing him shrugged in response.

“I didn’t think about anything like that.  Just did it.”  He paused.  “Though I guess that would sorta fit.”  He sighed.  “You know what?  Fine, I’ll give you a bit of the opium if you honestly think it’ll help you, but don’t mention this to Amber, ‘kay?”

“I assure you; I have no intention of alerting her.”

_Well this was playing on his conscience rather more than planned._

***

_No matter how well we bury our secrets, can we ever really be sure they will remain undiscovered?  The bitterness of others is a tool more powerful than any shovel.  Everything is exposed eventually, but no one knows how much damage it might deal._

James couldn’t help but notice that around a week after Vitali had given Baako a poisoned bowl of soup, the old man was still incredibly alive.  Currently hospitalised, but alive.  He _claimed_ of course that the poison must have simply expired (still not even telling him where nor when he acquired it) but it didn’t escape James’ notice that only a small portion of the opium had been used.  If Vitali was planning on finishing him off in one fell swoop, why wouldn’t he use most or even _all_ of the resources available to him?  Frankly, his trust in the other skylord was fast wavering, not helped by his refusal to answer any of his questions on the subject that they weren’t human anymore and in fact behaving like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

In fact everything had been dreary that past week.  Not a hint of sun all the while, plenty of rain that spread puddles all across the main platform, and now he was on night patrol yet again.  Night patrol was terrible.  But at least he no longer felt so tired so quickly, and the approaching day seemed a little more cheerful.  The setting moon was bright now, and the twilight was cloudless.  A muttering arose from below his feet as he rounded the single apple tree on Skyhold and abruptly he halted.  Wasn’t this around where he used to constantly catch Vitali?  He looked down, eyes widening as he caught sight of a paper thing crack in the hillside where only tree roots held it all sturdy.  He’d never noticed that before.  How about _that_ for the perks of improved senses?  Gingerly prodding the mud with the toe of his boot, it began to flake away and a hole replaced it.  A very glowy hole of gold and purple.  What a strange combination.  Noiselessly he moved away enough to navigate his body downwards and, checking around for others a final time, he entered the darkness.

The muttering was louder, and most definitely that of Vitali.  The blonde was acutely aware of a strange smell in the air, of blood and rot.  The latter could be explained by the fact that this was underground; more than one small organism must’ve been down here decomposing everything.  Blood though?  He looked down and baulked.  Dried red stains scraped their way down the small passage.  _Please let that be redstone._ Curiosity less than piqued, James set off along the trail as slow as he could, the voice growing loud enough to be intelligible.

“I am still working on it, my lord!” sounded Vitali, his voice hinting at fear.  “Though I feel the old man may be useful a little longer.  I _will_ make him talk.”  This was bad, this was incredibly, undoubtedly bad.  “I... I am sparing one other for a while yet, my lord.  I believe I have gained his trust and he will make a wonderful shield.”  James was close enough to hear a hissing in reply.  He couldn’t make out a word of what it was saying, improved hearing or no.

The tunnel broke off into a small cavern, the edges still wallowing in shadows; heavy duty wooden chests lined the walls, one slightly ajar and a small scrap of fabric sticking out.  It looked intensely violet in the strange lighting.  Cautiously he reached out to lift the lid minutely.

“He will not betray me, my lord, I am sure,” Vitali’s voice continued in monotone.  “I am perfectly aware of the limitations of my own species.”  Was that a chuckle?  James realised that Vitali was quite clearly referring to him.  His own species, though?  It’d been, what, a week?  A hiss, as James looked away from the chest to listen in.  “To explain it shortly, my lord, _I_ was the one who bit him to turn him into what he has now become.  Therefore a part of his mind will forever obey my will in gratitude.  He _cannot_ rile against me.”  A satisfied hiss.  _What?  ‘Bit’?  And the last part...  No, the voice in his head was screaming that he shouldn’t keep listening, that outside was better.  He must always trust Vitali._

James clapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from being heard as everything clicked firmly into place.  ‘My lord’?  This was not the side of good, and by the sounds of it, Vitali was aware of it.  Not the side of good, then evil.  _Trust him!_ And ‘bit’?  His teeth felt sharper than he was becoming used to as they pressed into his palm.  Of course he was a vampire, and of course vampires would obey evil.  How _blind_ had he been?!  _He leads what is right!_ Leaning forwards again he pushed open the wooden lid.  The pale and mutilated body of what could only be identified as a skylord by a pair of leather and glass goggles lay crumpled inside.  James gently lowered the lid and moved to another, the fast blurring sound of Vitali talking echoing around the cavern.  Another chest, and inside resided the corpse of Finnigan, face obscured, skin like clouds.

_This wasn’t him!_ Who else could this be?  _Baako is the traitor!_ Vitali had outright lied to him.  _He is the most trustworthy!_ This wasn’t himself talking anymore!  _Trust him!_ Not him!  _Trust him!_ Not him!

Plunging the room to dim gold, the purple hue of light dimmed and the voice abruptly stopped.   James held back a choke.  Did he hear?  Did he suspect?  Did he know?  Footsteps, and an inhuman growl.  _You’ve done it now James.  This is where you’ll die and no one will ever know._   James pushed himself from kneeling to crouching, and sprinted off down the passage.

Vitali was the killer; he still had a chance to warn the others, anyone who had stayed alive.  He knew.  _Idiot._ A weight barrelled into him from behind and he was sent sprawling, feeling layers of clothing rip and tear as they scraped across rough stony soil.  He rolled to his side to free him from his foe’s grasp, bashing into a wall and jumped up again.  Kept running.  Drew his sword.  Forced himself through the hole into glorious bursting sunshine.  Morning was here.  Light was here.  He looked back, to see Vitali all of a few feet behind him pulling up the hood of his clothing, own sword in hand.

James tripped and tumbled and somersaulted backwards; his sword was catching on his torso and shredding through fabric.  No, he was fine: nigh invincible, right?  A chuckle caught in his throat as a prickling sensation made itself known on the back of his neck.  He ignored it; it was nothing.  Vitali emerged from the hole without so much as a stumble.  He would.  _Surrender, James; he’s righteous, so unlike you._ James gripped the handle of his weapon tighter and tried to steady himself to lunge at his newfound – _friend_ – enemy: a feat much easier to achieve if the world would just stay put for a minute.  He sprung forward with a yell, the two swords grinding together and spitting a few sparks into the dawn.  His arm must’ve come into contact with one; his skin felt like it was burning.

His sword arm shook as he stood back a little.  He could do this, and he certainly didn’t need colour to do so.  Who needed colour to kill anyway?  Another clumsy lurch forwards.  For betrayal, for just proving he was in control, could make judgement.  Vitali was cackling as he parried and made a thrust of his own.  Why did everything hurt?  Why did his vision fade so.

The ground beneath his feet felt unsteady and fell away from him, and he slipped backwards into oblivion, to blinding sunlight and sky.

_...At morning light our swords did clash..._

_...Nothing left but bones and ash..._


	5. Chapter 5: Caesura

_Moments play in the mind on and on, an endless cycle of life and memory, of shared experiences and those we are alone in remembering.  Why must our minds return to them?  For when they are glad thoughts we feel alone in the present, and when miserable we live forever in the past.  After all, cycles are endless; there is only one true feeling we will ever resort to.  And it is the one we will end our lives with._

Amber got to her feet and gave a tired smile to the prone man on the bed in the hospital.  Baako had been taken suddenly ill all of a few days ago, and his condition was quickly worsening.  Though Amber knew better than to speak certain thoughts aloud, she did wonder whether his age was catching up with him.

Then again, maybe this was just a cold, considering all the medicine in the hospital had alarmingly disappeared along with all the syringes and other metal equipment.  Even the tongs by the fireplace had vanished.  Amber couldn’t imagine why anyone would wish to steal them; they were hardly made of diamond encrusted gold!

Either way, Amber walked solemnly through the doorway of the single storey building, looking up at the fuzzy cloudless sky.  The dawn was hidden by the sandstone walls around the citadel and only its blurred watercolour oranges could be seen.  Skylord James must’ve been further around Skyhold; she couldn’t see him, despite him supposedly being on patrol.  No matter.  Briskly she hurried down the paths to return to her own residence, shutting the door firmly in an attempt to wake her brother.  Last time she did nothing to wake him he was late to a vital meeting and she had to shout at him.  Last time she tried to wake him manually he apparently felt embarrassed by her “treating him like a kid” and shouted at her.  In short they had come to a mutual agreement that on the common occasion that Amber roused first, she would make some sort of loud noise downstairs so there was no shouting between them.  Sure enough as she slid her jacket from her shoulders and hung it carefully on a peg by the door there was a mumbled moan from upstairs followed by a thump as Horus half slouched, half fell out of bed.  She stifled a yawn; she had managed little sleep, eventually rolling out of bed an hour earlier than she usually would to check in at the hospital.  Calmly she walked to the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards for food and placing a pot of water on top of the stove.  Above her head thumps echoed through the ceiling.  For someone who refused to be treated as a child Horus sure made a lot of noise completing as basic a task as dressing himself.  A few minutes and he was thundering down the stairs, finally looking out of the window.  Even from behind Amber could see his face falling.

“Sis, it’s _way_ too early to be awake,” he groaned, slumping his shoulders and walking back to the stairs.  “If the sun is not there to greet you, you are clearly in the wrong place at the wrong time.  G’night.”  A pat, a pat, another few sluggish pats.

And then the shouting from outside started.  Horus froze; it wasn’t difficult to understand why.  The shouts were panicked, feral and rather too close.  “Okay I am _not_ going to go investigate,” he whispered hoarsely.  “I’m _not_ going to be the one to find another body.”  He kept muttering to himself as he slowly climbed up to his bed.  Frowning, Amber moved towards the window and stared out.  The noise had appeared to originate from the direction of the Central Spire.  Proving herself correct she caught sight of two figures, one quickly rolling backwards down the slope.  She smothered a giggle.  Was that Skylord James falling over?  He had told her before that he felt asleep on his feet whenever he finished his night watch, but Amber didn’t expect him to mean it so literally!  Thankfully he was up again, lifting his arm, letting a sword flash in glowing sunlight.  He had his sword drawn.  What?

Her eyes flicked left, to the other figure: Skylord Vitali, though it was hard to make out his face with a hood in the way.  His sword too was drawn and flashing dangerously in his hand.  He lunged forwards unnaturally fast and James staggered back, almost falling again.  He looked practically drunk.  Well if they were fighting, Amber should go and break them up, surely.  Shaking her head in disbelief the skylord grabbed her coat and trotted back to the stove so there _wouldn’t_ be a fire to add to the trouble.  With a final glance out to the others-

She stopped dead in her tracks.  Wisps of smoke were rising, snaking up into the air from James’ shoulders, currently clad in alarmingly shredded fabric.  A flame appeared, and another and she could just make out the sound of Vitali laughing cruelly as James stepped backwards and seemingly missed the ground beneath his foot.

“Horus, get back down here this instant,” she called, trying not to let the words catch in her throat.  She would remain _calm_ in this situation.  The flames were spreading over his chest and head, distant expression engulfed in fire.  Amber backed away subconsciously, calling again for her brother as she heard nothing.  Finally he appeared, looking more than a little out of it all.  She gestured to the window, watching Horus’ expression turn from frustration to confusion to alarm and decide on horror.  As they looked on Vitali moved forwards, kicking out the flames obscuring James’ body.  As they flickered and dissolved it became more obvious there was no longer anything recognisable as Skylord James, nor anything human, nor even a living thing.  Vitali turned and walked into the hill itself with a grin maniacal enough to be visible even at a distance.  A heavy silence blanketed the house.

“Sis, do you think-”

“That Vitali is our killer, Horus?  If that was his reaction to seeing a co-worker die before his eyes, then I think so.”

“Should we go and-”

“Take him down?  Not only are we now unsure of his whereabouts, but James appeared to try the same, and – well I guess you didn’t see the actual fight – Vitali was far quicker and probably stronger than a mortal man who’s been up all night should be, so I think not.”

“So what-”

“Do we do?  That’s a good question.  I’ve seen no one but Baako, yourself, Vitali and James all week; James is now dead, Baako is hospitalised, and Vitali is clearly a crazed murderer, most likely now a serial killer.  I don’t think we have the choice to stay, Horus, unless we too want to be killed.”  Amber barely registered the words coming from her mouth.  Was that her at all saying that?  She grimaced and looked aside at her brother who now looked positively shell shocked.  Soon his expression hardened and he nodded furiously.

“We’ll go to Mistral right?”

“Not Mistral, Icaria.”

“Right: fire,” Horus whispered to himself, marching over nearer the door and pulling his own jacket haphazardly off of its peg on the wall.  “So we’ll go to Icaria, and try and bring reinforcements to get rid of Vitali.”  The two siblings nodded to each other and the door was flung open.  Footsteps rattled as they speed walked to the southern arm of Skyhold.  Chartering a plane would be the best option; airships took far longer to prepare.  “Sis, d’you think we’ll find Jasper and Lysander while we’re there?”

“I doubt it,” replied Amber, as they entered the small hangar where planes were kept.  “If they made it to Icaria then they should’ve returned here by now; there are a few ships based in the city.”  She jogged over to one plane and checked the fuel.

“What in Minecraftia are you doing?” chuckled Horus, following her.

“I’m not piloting a plane just to have it cut short a thousand feet above the ocean.”  Plenty of coal there, but something still looked off just below the fuel store.  Moving forwards along the hold of the plane she removed a hatch to look at the engine.

“Horus, check the engines of the other planes,” rattled Amber, replacing the panel and covering up the dented, torn metal.  She herself ran to another craft.  That too had been destroyed.  “I can’t see a way to fix these, and certainly not in any short period of time,” she admitted, looking around at the hangars.  There were still a couple of airships.  Slow, but still there?  She jogged over, dismay pooling in her stomach as she caught sight of ripped fabric and splintering wood.  Apparently Vitali didn’t want anybody to leave.

“Amber?”  Horus had appeared at her side, gaze sweeping across the wreckage.  “So fight rather than flight now?”  Amber paused, eyes closed.  There had to be another way than just confronting the monster and dying needlessly.

“I... I think I know another route off of Skyhold,” she finally said, searching her mind for any mention of the path she was _sure_ existed.  Old documents, old conversations, somewhere.

“Well I _guess_ we could just jump off the side and hope for the best,” snarked Horus, folding his arms and glaring at a patch of wall.  He wasn’t always the world’s best actor when trying not to cry.  Amber didn’t bother to bring it up.  “But I don’t know!  Seems kind of the most useless way to die to me.”

“I’m not talking about jumping off of the _side_ of Skyhold.”

“I don’t like the way you’re stressing the ‘side’ there; if this sounded like a sound idea you would be stressing the ‘jumping’ part instead.”

“Well I’m glad to see you’ve applied yourself and become a psychologist in the past ten minutes,” drawled Amber.  The mood didn’t feel any lighter.  Maybe she was doing the joke thing wrong.  Mentally she shook her head.  She was pretty sure she knew what she was doing now.  “At the centre of Skyhold there is a whole unused section,” she started, edging towards the exit of the hangar and beckoning for Horus to follow.  “It’s lain untouched for around a century, as far as I’m aware; the texts on the matter aren’t entirely precise.  It could be a century, it could be less, it probably isn’t more-”

“I don’t think this is the time to complain about the lack of continuity surrounding our history, Amber.”  They had reached the entrance to the main platform.

“I wasn’t complaining; I was simply stating the facts.”  She looked sheepishly at the ground beneath her feet.  “But I suppose they are hardly the most relevant at the current moment.  Either way, historical documents state that the Central Spire was originally a larger structure with many underground levels.  Said levels are filled with strange machinery that no one could ever work out how to use so the access from the surface was mostly filled in, apart from a large glass panel, when they realised that looking straight down through the middle of all the levels looked rather beautiful.  They couldn’t really destroy anything because of the magic and technology holding Skyhold in the air.”

Horus looked exasperatedly at her.  They had entered the Central Spire.  “And this will help us... how?”  Boy was Amber enjoying holding this over her brother’s head.

“I recall being told that one of the machinations beneath the Spire was an emergency exit,” she shrugged.  “If we can navigate our way to it, it might still work.”  She smiled suavely at Horus.  “Why are you looking at me so expectantly?”  He sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Seriously?  You’re _not_ going on a rant about the unsafe practices of blocking an exit?  Nothing like that at all?!”

“I believe you yourself said that now was not the time for complaining.”  Amber paced across the floor, circling the room.  Gleefully she tapped a portion near the base of the winding upward staircase with her foot: a nice hollow sounding pat.

“Ugh I can’t believe you’re shifting to the funny-man here,” grumbled Horus from behind her.  “You’re supposed to be the straight-man!”

Amber looked up, eyebrows raised.  “I have no idea what you’re babbling about, or how you came to such an incredibly incorrect conclusion.”  Horus continued to mutter under his breath.  Amber supposed he really wasn’t a morning person, after all.  “Look, Horus, can you help me with this?”  Amber rapped the ever so slightly discoloured stone with her knuckles.  The hollow noise finally stopped at a hairline crack that ran around a metre in width and thrice that in length.  She lifted her head; was there anything that would be helpful around here?  The only sharp sturdy object was a hook propped against the wall.  Her stomach dropped; why would that thing appear again now?  Well it was that or running to the fortress’s tool shed to retrieve a proper pickaxe and risk being seen by Vitali.  She looked back at the meat hook in disgust.  Well, pickaxe it was!  She ordered Horus to remain there, preferably hidden in case Vitali arrived, reasoning that if she was caught he would think nothing of it, but if Horus was caught (at barely half an hour past the crack of dawn) then everything would seem rather suspicious.  Settling her face to wear a mask of neutrality, she exited the building and made her way to the tool shed.

***

_Try your hardest, build a place for yourself.  Everything crumbles, is ruined and forgotten.  All are lost to time.  No one remembers small victories and history is twisted to cover only the victors.  Unless you’re feeling brave, strong, respected and lucky, then you too will be destroyed by the future._

Around ten minutes later the two skylords were approximately twenty feet below the surface.  Removing the ill-fitting stone tiling had revealed a crumbling continuation of the staircase now leading both ways in a wide and sickening spiral.  Neither sibling had seen any sign of Vitali, which was probably good.  Torchlight projected dancing shadows on the dirt and iron walls of the underground caverns, occasionally being drowned by redstone torches, by lava and glowstone.  A few minecarts rattled back and forth on a few blocks worth of track, though quite how they were powered was not obvious.  Quite what they were supposed to _do_ was also not obvious.  Further and further down they traversed, the air becoming heavier as atmosphere returned and was heated by raw energy.  Finally they came to a room which had no exit, no ladder or staircase to delve deeper into the keep of the hold.  The room was sparse but for a series of standing panels, a large hatch, and a comparatively small lifeboat.

“You’re joking,” breathed Amber, speaking for the first time since they had entered the forgotten levels of Skyhold.  “That boat barely looks seaworthy, yet alone over frozen water.  And even that’s forgetting about its size!”  Because of _course_ the boat was a one person craft.  Amber clenched her fists and staggered over to the panels.  A few buttons, a lever.  She pushed up the hatch and heard Horus whisking the cover off of the lifeboat.  A winch sprouted from below the hatch and a long coil of rope lay thankfully not rotting too much in the craft.  Automatically she pulled the rope and wound it around the winch, examined the boat again.  On the sides of the raft the notches to place oars fastened into full loops of metal.  That would be how to attach the damn thing to the rope to the winch in that case.

“The boat will be unusable once at sea level,” murmured Amber, explaining her reasoning for the benefit of both herself and her brother.  “It doesn’t look like it’ll hold up to scraping miles over ice after all.”  She paused and instead focussed on threading thick rope through iron hoops.  “However the ice spreads to land even in summer, and is seldom unsuited to walking over.”  She beamed up at Horus.  “While only one at a time can ride in this boat, once on the ice one can simply hop out of it allowing the other to winch it back up and lower themselves down.”  A final sigh.

And a final crash from above.  A final angered yell and a final echoing gasp.

So the monster had finally discovered their lair?

“We have around ten minutes,” whispered Horus, head jerking to the staircase from which they had entered.  “Is that enough time to take the boat down and bring it back up again?”

“Unlikely.  The machinery here is decades old and uses little power.  I find it improbable that more than one of us will reach the ground before we are interrupted.”  Amber knew that her own face was showing no emotions, nor did her voice betray her feelings – what was one supposed to feel in this situation? – and instead watched as Horus indulged in a few expressions, finally settling on determination.

“Good luck then, sis,” croaked Horus, reaching forwards and wrapping his arms around Amber’s shoulders.

“What?”

“You should be the one to live,” he clarified as if it was obvious.

“Horus, please-”

“Look, I’m not going to pretend that you don’t have the best chance of surviving and getting help!”  His voice was rising; he was going to attract Vitali faster.  An inhuman screech from somewhere above echoed her thoughts.  “I’ll face it if I have to; you’re better at defending yourself, you can remember maps and where to go, you’ll be able to work out how _not_ to get killed, and when you find other people they’ll take you seriously.  You’re better than me for this.  I’d just die in the frozen wilderness or something pointless, right?”  Amber felt her shoulder become wet as Horus shook against it.

“Don’t make me take that question as anything but rhetoric.”  Another crash from above and a hiss.  Hopefully that was Vitali harming himself on lava or hot machinery.  She stood stock still, till Horus shrugged and stood straight up with red face, and began to poke her backwards into the lifeboat.  It now hung level with the floor, only air below it.  The planks creaked as she fell back heavily.  Horus gave a bitter smirk and turned to the controls, ignoring his sister’s shouts and arguments.  _This was better, this was better._   The winch spluttered into life, the crunch of gears drowning out words.  In the boat, Amber stumbled where she stood and fell back again with another creak of ancient wood.  A last thought, he raised his hand to his head and lifted away the hat there: his hat, yes _his_.  An outstretched hand, opening fingers and a sad smile.  A shocked expression, open arms.  The weighty fabric dropped quickly through the frigid air.

A metallic bang resounded through the room, originating from too close.  Horus whisked around on his feet, grabbing the edge of the hatch and lowering it carefully.  Trembling he fingered the sword at his belt, pulled upon the handle and weighed it in his hand.  He wanted to fight.  He was _going_ to fight.  Fighting was the best option now.  The last resort for a last resort.  Soon he found himself crouching by the entrance to the room, blade unsheathed as a newcomer burst inside after too little time spent preparing.

A swing, a miss.

Another, rebounded off the wall instead.

A grab from the other, arm caught.

He struggled only a little as he was twisted, as his weapon swept across sandstone, as his arms were stretched away from him, his head pulled back, his spine arched.

And nothing.

Now thirty feet below a woman gazed up at the ragged base of a floating city, her seat wobbling as she sunk to a wasteland.  A strangled yelp and a victorious caw travelled through the air to her ears followed by a distant snapping sound.  After a while the craft cracked as it bumped against solid ice.  She cautiously got to her feet, toying with fabric in her fingers.  A long journey was ahead of her.

_...I snapped his spine with a mighty crack..._

***

_No greater or more painful thing than waiting could exist in this world.  We wait all our lives for time to pass for others to finish their waiting and follow us in suit.  We wait for the seasons to change, for everything to start again.  We wait for our deaths.  And when they finally arrive, we wait for time itself to end; there can be no more waiting after that._

Vitali soon made another attempt to burn the Seal, now that all irritating distractions were suitably dead or missing or otherwise incapable of interference.  He set the whole thing alight and sat by, waiting and passing the time by writing poetry.  He sat for two days to no avail, for snow to fall and smother the flames, the flames that had done nothing, that had left the Seal nearly pristine.  He marched back to Baako to demand a reason, to be greeted only with ramblings of leaving him be.

Months had passed now, and every day he had been met with infuriating denials.   The Carnivale del Banjo had arrived and set up their frustratingly bright and cheery tents and attractions.  Vitali was quite sure the blasted voodoo witch they employed had it out for him too.  All in all, a fearful and unproductive few months it had been.

Finally an idea struck him and he returned to the cursed man’s bedside once again.

“So you have come to try and ‘reason’ with me once again?” croaked Baako, on the edge of tired laughter.  “As I have already said, let an old man have his fun and pretend he still has a use in this world!  I won’t speak.”

_Really now?_ “Oh but of course you will still have a use; maybe not your own, but at least you’ll get your wish of hanging on for a few more sorry years.”  Vitali grinned and bent forwards, eyes glinting.  Baako tried to slide away.  _Fool._   Enamel brushed against skin and Baako suddenly exclaimed:

“Hah!  To think I can see you get so close to your goal!  So close!”  Vitali stilled, listening intently.  Emotional outbursts had their uses, after all.  “And yet you _still_ don’t have the right tool!  The fool you are!  To think you can only see, never know!”

Vitali stood as Baako froze in realisation, mouthing nonexistent words and gibberish.  Had he said something important?

_Not the right tool, but something about ‘seeing’ it?_ He truly had been the fool then.  After all, it only made sense for an elaborate lock to require an elaborate key.  Baako would only know that he had tried to burn the wretched plug.  Fire was correct, though the type would matter.  There was indeed another type of fire upon Skyhold.  To the western platform then.


	6. Chapter 6: Reprise

_Oh the simplest mistakes, how they forever haunt us and haunt the world, how even one slip of the tongue, of the wrist will change everything.  Because everything will change.  Everything will change and slip from the halls of what could possibly happen.  Good luck._

Yawning, Vitali slashed aside what seemed like the thousandth pigman, yet in reality was most likely no more than the hundredth.  Curse this maze!  Curse the creator, and especially whoever decided to place such ridiculously powerful creatures with such infuriating attach instincts inside such a cramped and stuffy structure!  In fact, curse those who thought up such an extravagant, impractical way of unsealing the hold’s power!  Another grossly mutated zombie fell by his feet and he kicked it away towards a gurgling fountain of spitting lava.  Thank goodness he could see a slight change in the light.  He was _nearly_ outside...

Another dead end.  Curse them all!

Furiously Vitali smashed a torch off the wall; it’d probably perched there for decades from a foolhardy skylord-in-training.  Turn back, stumble out of a different tunnel, bat away the suddenly emerging animal with golden blade outstretched.  Light, light, hideous grey light.  No more tricks this time?  No.  Honest daylight.  A comparatively small chest sat smirking under the shelter of its little round bloodstone house mere yards away.  It squeaked slightly as it was opened.  Six small bottles: six small pebbles of glowing netherrack: six small blossoms of presumably enchanted flame.  Vitali reached out a hand and jostled the contents of the chest.  Five bottles left, neatly arranged.  Really, it was far neater now that one had been removed.  A sudden mechanical roar from above of course prompted an upwards glance and an upwards gasp.  He thought he had _destroyed_ all of the planes, yet there were three, circling the platforms.  Oh no.  Oh no no no no no.  Three.  He knew three skylords that should be dead, three skylords that he couldn’t be sure were dead.

Determination settling on his features he sprinted around the edge of the Trial’s platform, leaping over the gaping crevices towards the southern platform.  He would intercept them, catch them by surprise.  Maybe they wouldn’t be prepared; maybe he could defeat them then and there.

As Vitali skidded onto the main platform there was an ear-splitting crunch and a restrained gloat.  A very poorly restrained gloat; one of his trio of suspicions had been affirmed.  Someone had crashed badly, apparently.  Possibly a second of the trio, though for some strange reason there came no swear-laden retaliation.  Maybe he’d been killed in the crash.  That would be useful.  Male voices continued to echo over sandstone and packed snow.  No, this wasn’t right; why didn’t he recognise them?  No female voice, no playfully villainous yelling.  Baako’s kid was definitely there, and directing someone?  What in the name of all things unholy did he think he was doing?!  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Vitali marched towards the archway leading to the runway.  There!  He could see Lysander walking briskly down the open passageway.  And... what was he wearing?  Since when did he ever _not_ wear his uniform?  And who were those two walking down...

For pity’s sake _why_.  He was supposed to be dead!  Those were the Heroes!  Why were they _following_ him!  Why had he not been told of any of this!

“Stop Lysander!” he yelled, trying to hide any stray strands of desperation.  He had to get rid of those taggers on.  “You know the rules, so why do you bring outsiders to Skyhold?  Out of goodwill I will give you a chance to explain.”  A slight glint of panic tinged the man’s eyes, then left in an instant.  He was disregarding rules and tradition.  This could not be a good sign.  Behind him the two morons that were supposedly heralded as Heroes stared absently at the holes in the floor; so they really _did_ act like children.  It was a good thing he had chosen the side he had then.

“Step aside, Vitali!” blustered Lysander.  Was that defiance?  He stepped forwards, and instinctively Vitali edged back.  Really, someone in leather trousers shouldn’t be quite so intimidating.  “A terrible evil is loose in this world!  We must speak to Skylord Amber immediately!”  Good, he was just as absurdly naive as he ever was.  Not _too_ much had changed after all.  Passion flamed in his eyes, a rather clever mask for fear, Vitali supposed.  But ah, the cold water of realisation was such a wonderful tool.

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” he chuckled darkly, inwardly laughing at Lysander’s stupefied expression, and deliberately _ignoring_ a bird (was that a chicken?!) as it hopped and flapped by.  Neither one of them said anything.  At least Lysander wasn’t one to point out the flaws in otherwise perfectly tense moments.  Nevertheless, he’d spent too long dwelling over this occurrence.  “She is dead and the others have vanished.”  Why was the cursed bird jumping up to his hand?  This was horrible.  At least he had the horrified glazed look materialising on the other man’s face to keep him grounded.  A second of silence then,

“ _What_?!”  A squawk sounded from behind him simultaneously.  By the looks of things, the spaceman-Hero was attacking the damned chicken.  No, Lysander was still acting as he used to, despite new appearances.  He would be all too easy to play for a fool, and could be slain easily once the Heroes were out of the way.

“I think they fled; only Skylord Baako and I remain...”

“When did this happen?”  Vitali paused, thinking.  How much should he reveal?  This was a three versus one scenario, and as much as he believed in his own abilities, he would rather survive unscathed to complete his mission.  After all, that’s what all this was about: survival.  So animalistic, so-  “ _When_?!”  And to think only a little earlier he had thought to praise that fool for his digression and timing.  An idea shot through his mind.

“Only recently,” he dawdled, watching impatience and fear grow in Lysander’s gaze.  This was far too fun.  “When that creepy carnival came to town.”  Yes, hide the realisation that he had just resorted to the description ‘creepy carnival’.  He continued to look at Lysander with untelling eyes...

Well _he_ didn’t have to look so amused by that!  A breathy clucking emanated from by his legs.  Were other living things _only_ there to take away from the mood of the moment!  Like the two Heroes for example, babbling away to each other from too close.

“Then there is no time to lose,” muttered Lysander solemnly, tilting his head to try and remove the chicken from his direct line of sight, and grasping the sword in his... belt?  Had he jammed his sword into his belt?  Why did he have his sword but not proper trousers?!

“Why are you here, Lysander?”  One question of so very many, but probably general enough.  It was always worth observing how easily someone could be prompted into a veritable speech of an explanation; of many men, the one standing before him now was most likely the best as a subject.

“Quiet!” he snapped.  Not so good as a subject then?  “Take me to Baako, for it is a matter of utmost urgency!”  This was _unnervingly_ uncharacteristic for the skylord he recognised.

“Very well,” Vitali conceded at last.  This was going nowhere, and he didn’t wish to raise too many suspicions under the circumstances.  He whisked around and stalked back to the main platform, listening to the footsteps following him.

And bumped instantly into that voodoo witch Nubescu.  The world was clearly trying to irritate him now.

“Nubescu!” cried the dwarf-Hero in alarm, by all sounds.  “Oh god.”  So these two had already encountered her?  Interesting.  And they were dreading her?  Oh good.  He supposed it was time to play on their fears then.

“I told you to stay away from him, you witch!”  Naturally overemphasising his own discomfort would remove any doubts that Lysander had previously thrust upon him, and shift them onto _her_.  Spaceman-Hero looked sideways and peered through the uncovered window.  Of course; they were already outside the hospital.  Vitali glanced for a second at Lysander.  He was staring into space just over his shoulder blankly: not helpful.  “She is trying to _kill_ him, Lysander!”  Not much of a reaction had been achieved.  From somewhere past the door Baako groaned, perfectly on cue.  The door slammed open and the two Heroes lurched inside.

“Nubescu is _not_!” protested the witch from beside him.  Could this, just for a moment, go as planned?  Planned in a rush, admittedly; perhaps expected would be a better word.  Oh good, Lysander was _finally_ reacting, and was staring through the doorway, clearly still thinking.  “Ja only be gettin’ in da way!”

“Yeah, Nubescu was good to us before,” pondered spaceman-Hero thoughtfully.  Oh no.  Had he misread the situation?  Vitali froze, glaring at the wall as the Heroes began to laugh and joke and reminisce.

“Vitali, get some rest,” sighed Lysander, “I’ll handle this.”  _No no no no no no_.  Vitali unsurely stepped away.  Why did his voice sound so steady?  He turned his head back to look again, and worry was set on his face, doubt too, yet his gaze softened a little as he looked upon she whom the Heroes trusted.  He wasn’t heeding him.  His efforts to change his mind... weren’t working.

Lysander heard the pained cry of a chicken.  It sounded as if it had been kicked.  For some reason that he couldn’t quite discern, the dwarf was handing several ingots of gold to Madame Nubescu – he believed that that was her name at any rate.  “Madame, if we would speak to Baako?” he gestured hopefully; he needn’t have bothered.  Doubtless, the Heroes intended that gold as a bribe for entry!  Possibly unnecessary, but he was far past the point of bringing their actions into question.  Silently he stepped in behind them, shaking his head while they couldn’t see.  Instantly the dwarf walked over to examine the portrait of Skylord Amber on the wall, the spaceman soon following.  Lysander adamantly ignored them; he could do _without_ the uncomfortable parallels when any of the people he knew better than a little were dying in front of him.

“Grandfather!”  That came out a little louder than anticipated.  But at least it called back the spaceman to the grave situation at hand.

“I fear it is late..” said Nubescu calmly.  Too calmly for the situation.  “He is close to da end.”  That had been the case with Peculier, and he was still fine!  Probably...  Well he probably thought Lysander was a criminal and a murderer by now but...

He promptly terminated that line of thought.  “He is old... old an’ sick-”

“I _must_ speak with him one last time.”  He was settled, even if he wasn’t sure whether those were his own words.  The skylord paused for a moment.  His grandfather was in no state to talk, with eyes unfocussed and unseeing.  Lysander clenched his fists a little to stop them shaking.  Now was no time to be afraid.  “Is there anything you can do?”

“I have a golden apple!” exclaimed the spaceman.  Thank Notch.  Yes, that had worked last time.  Lysander could forgive him for sounding quite so ecstatic.  And the thievery that had doubtless taken place once again to find the apple.  To his left Nubescu made appreciative noises in reply as she was given the shining metallic fruit.  Yes, it was going to be alright, everything would be fine.  Gleefully the unlikely oracle sprinkled soil over Baako’s chest – trust in her, Lysander, regardless of looks this was a magical art.  The apple was placed over his mouth.

And the dwarf was singing.  Sure!  Why wouldn’t he be!  Lysander clenched his fists tighter, only faintly aware of his nails biting into his skin.  He looked at the floor, grinding his teeth as the dwarf continued to shriek.

“He should be better mon.”  Lysander’s head shot up and he looked forwards.  Well he couldn’t see the golden apple now.

“Lysander,” groaned his grandfather, as Lysander allowed himself a relieved smile.  “Is that you?”  His eyes were focussing, somehow full of dread still.  A moment he had been saying words, then he once again resorted to painful gibberish.

“It is me, grandfather,” rushed Lysander.  He was _determined_ to make these seconds count for something.  He could fix this!  “What happened here?”  Please, _please_.  He edged forwards, not wanting to lose words by sound unable to travel.  More babbling.  “I... think he’s a little mad,” he admitted out of the corner of his mouth, feeling his face go a little red.

“I know not-”  Damn and blast.  “Time is short; you have come for the map fragment?”

“Y-yes!” exclaimed Lysander, stifling a gasp.  Thank Notch he knew, of course he knew.  The Heroes grinned at each other to the side, the spaceman fumbling in his pockets for his own fragment.  Oh, apparently the dwarf had them instead.

“Are the legendary heroes with you?”

“They are!”  Lysander bounced a little on his feet, stilling when he felt his shins bang against the frame of the bed.  He cleared his throat and regained his composure.  Nonetheless he leant a little further forwards; the Heroes really were being rather loud.  Plus it sounded like they had muddled up their map fragments with the rest of the paper they were carrying – why was he supporting them again?

“Then they must complete the tests of the skylords,” croaked Baako, eyes threatening to lose focus again.

“The tests...?  But...”

“After they complete the tests, they can enter the control room!”  Baako was rushing out the words, slurring the sounds now.  No!  His condition was supposed to be _improving_.  On the edge of his concentration, Lysander could hear the dwarf’s comments on the two skylords’ goggles.  Was now _really_ the time?  “Heroes, you must use your heads, but not for the goggles!”  Cue the Heroes _continuing_ to chatter away about the goggles.

“Can’t we just have the map fragment?” asked Lysander in exasperation.  This was ridiculous!  The idea of stupidly complicated machinations to ‘protect’ treasured items was wonderful in theory and in fiction, but in real life it could prove to be rather inconvenient!  “I don’t understand, Grandfather!” His voice was rising, he could tell.  And now Baako’s eyes were flicking randomly back and forth, never settling on a face; his skin had become paler and the bed he lay on trembled in expectation.

“You will, in time,” whispered Baako as he smiled, smiled away.  “Farewell, young one.”

Farewell?  Farewell to what?  Catching himself unbalanced Lysander staggered back a way.  A nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach fogged his vision as he stared wildly ahead.  The Heroes were chuckling, he could hear that.  And yelling in shock now, as the prone figure on the bed was replaced only with bones and blood, and bright red flesh.  He was against a wall, felt wood beneath his palm as he leant back.  No... No...  “Grandfather...”  Was he walking forwards?  The bed was getting closer again.  He stared down, listening only to his own pulse, loud in his ears.  Now was not the time to be afraid, and he would have plenty of time to mourn.

While there were others clueless and relying on him he had to be strong.  The others were gone, but he was left.  He was still standing and he would not allow himself to collapse.  That’s what his grandfather would have wished for, right?  The skylord saw a couple of tears drop onto the bed sheets.  Well starting from _now_ then he would be stoic.  He looked aside, up to the Heroes – why was the spaceman standing on a bed?

“Heroes.  You heard my grandfather’s last words.  You must complete the Trials and become skylords.”  Madame Nubescu was muttering to herself, obviously still quite shaken.  Lysander wondered how many people she had seen die before her eyes.  He turned to the door, noting that the dwarf appeared to be being violently sick in the corner.

“Do we get goggles?”  Ah the spaceman, always asking the most _pressing_ questions.  It was probably better to ignore him for the moment.

“Rare items-”  Lysander’s explanation was rather cut short by the dwarf crawling past to continue vomiting in a stream of no-longer-fresh-water.  That just served as a reminder of the mess that was doubtless waiting inside.  Ugh.  “Rare items are held on the three elemental areas on the edge of Skyhold!” he tried again, this time reaching the end of his clause.  “I must warn you, however, they are full of danger!  So prepare yourself!”  Broken speech.  He probably just needed a little rest, that was all.  “Find me once you have all three items.  Meanwhile I will find out who committed these terrible crimes-”  The skylord glanced past his two companions and began to walk forwards, brushing  shoulders with the dwarf.  “-and avenge my grandfather.”

The Heroes were still talking amongst themselves as they passed out of earshot.

***

_One word and I am through, one word is all it takes.  After all so many mistakes and missed takes add and add and crush their perpetrator.  If lies will hide that one word, why ever tell the truth?_

Lysander shot through the drawers of a desk in his own residence.  Grandfather had to have left some clue behind.  Well, even if he didn’t _know_ what was going on, maybe he actually did have something.  Why didn’t he say?  He couldn’t not know!

Lysander leant back on his haunches, thinking.  He was _sure_ Baako had kept a journal at one point, but maybe no longer.  Maybe that was in fact just a lie to keep his younger self confident and happy.  Like the lie that the legendary heroes would be capable, when they finally turned up to save the world from peril.  He stood.  There was nothing in the house, and it was becoming marginally lighter outside the window, or as light as it could become through the sleet bludgeoning the window.  It felt far too cold for summer up here.  Well he would resign his search in here.  The bookcase produced nothing obvious, the desk was clean of tells, and frankly he was tired of staring at somewhere that seemed so uninhabited.  He sighed, pulled a coat from a hatstand by the wall and flung the door open with a slight yelp.  Vitali was standing right outside, sword drawn and held defensively in front of him.

“Vitali please, sheath your blade.”  Vitali stood still.  “Vitali, that is inherently _dangerous_.”

“I believe that was the _point_ , skylord.”

Lysander paused for a second.  “That was terrible.”

“What was terrible?”

“That pun.”  The other man continued to stand still, thoughts and confusion flashing through his eyes.

“Well it wasn’t supposed to be one,” he snarled, lowering his sword a little.  “Stop muddying the atmosphere with your ridiculous interpretations.”

“I believe I had very little warning of what this ‘atmosphere’ is,” retaliated Lysander, fishing his own sword from his recently donned scabbard and pushing down Vitali’s.  “So really I have no idea on how I am ‘muddying’ it, as you claim.”  He mirrored his counterpart as they both replaced their weapons in leather casing, both kept their hands firmly clasped around the handles.  “I must say I’m surprised to see you up at this time.”

“Is that so?” drawled Vitali, looking around.

“Certainly, considering I requested that you get some rest, seeing as you were _so_ intent on caring for my grandfather.”

“To think you still have not noticed the most obvious solution,” chuckled the skylord, stepping back, turning to look up at the sky.  “Skylord Baako only died the moment you sent me away.”  He glanced sideways and grinned menacingly.  “The moment you put more faith in some no-good Heroes rather than your fellow skylord.”

“I have chosen my path.  It is my own choice who I trust, Vitali-”

“Since when would you rather trust strangers than one proved to be a friend!  It is unlike you!”

“Perhaps people can change over the course of months.”  Lysander smiled a little, bitter.  “And perhaps the circumstances can change too,” he murmured, “wouldn’t you say?”  In an instant the other’s eyes were overwhelmed with terror, surprise.  Strange.  That was a casual remark.  Casual remarks didn’t _usually_ cause such a strong reaction in anyone.

“Where are the Heroes now?” breathed Vitali hoarsely, trying desperately to return to his cooler facade.

“Most likely waking if they have slept at all,” Lysander bluntly answered.  “It is dawn after all, although a very bleak one.”

“Well,” stammered the man now rather off balance.  “Maybe I will take up your offer of rest.  Yes, maybe it would do me good...”

He trailed off and trounced off, muttering below his breath.  Lysander shrugged; it was wrong to eavesdrop on someone almost out of their mind from sudden worry by the looks of things.  Maybe he would search records for any more clues.  Maybe Amber had filed something – Lysander gulped - if she was indeed alive when the disappearances occurred.  He looked over his shoulder to where Vitali had walked off to: no trace of the man.  Blast.  He could’ve asked him a few questions.

***

_Perhaps it is but naive to think that anything is eternal; secrets won’t be held, people will fall away from their set in stone personalities, and traditions and promises will drift away like dust in the night sky.  All is ephemeral and nothing will survive.  Nothing.  No thing, not a thing.  Forever is a lie._

The Central Spire was chilly at night, though airy and little torchlight was needed to flicker away merrily for light to be borne into every crevice of the room.  Lysander let out a deep breath into the air and ran his fingers through the hair beneath his cap.  Swathes of Amber’s neat documents were missing.  Barely a single one of her reports since he’d been nominated to watch over Mistral in fact.  “Notch...”  No, while there was anyone he had to lead, he would stay _strong_ , like Amber _must_ have been, like Baako _must_ have been.

Hold on.  Amber must have been strong, and she would’ve continued to write up what was happening, _especially_ if anything untoward was happening.  Yet Skylord Vitali had said that the developments were only recent.  That was his reasoning for blaming the carnival folk.  No carnival stayed for that long in one place, and Lysander was _certain_ he had seen posters in Mistral shortly before he left with Peculier advertising their presence by Verigan’s Hold over spring.  They should have set up before Mistral was destroyed.  They must’ve at least stopped there, so how could they be at Skyhold causing disappearances, and what would then happen to the months unaccounted for?  It didn’t fit!  The carnies _couldn’t_ have killed the skylords.  They _might_ have killed _some_ people in the past, but that point was not up for debate.  If anything was set in stone, it was that he really needed to ask these folk a few questions.  He stood and jogged to the exit of the room.  Oh, it was already perfectly light outside.  And not raining or snowing or anything in between.  That was a pleasant surprise.  The air was still muggy however, and the skylord’s boots splashed in slushy puddles as he walked, stretching and yawning, to the south-eastern area of Skyhold.  Somewhere far behind him he could hear the sounds of the Heroes’ shouts carried through the air.  Ah, he’d forgotten all about the slimes; usually it was too cold and windy for them to stay on the slippery platform.  It was a good thing it was summer then!

He stopped walking abruptly.  Maybe he should have given the Heroes a little more warning about what awaited them.  Shrugging, Lysander continued; he’d said there would be danger, and besides, those two were technically immortal.  They’d be fine!  Once he’d moved past a carefully pinned poster (that _couldn’t_ be a structurally sound position to put that...) Lysander prepared for his eyes to be assaulted with colour...

Oh.  Right.  It had snowed recently.  Instead of brightly coloured tents, every canvas surface was flecked with white flakes, with only slight glints of orange and green.  _Brush, brush, brush_.  Someone was seemingly trying to clear the ground, while himself wearing only-

“That can’t be warm you know,” muttered the skylord, to himself more than to the object of his scorn.  Nonetheless the man jerked his head upwards, sporting the most livid death stare quite possibly recorded in the whole and complete history of Minecraftia.  A man dressed only in pink underwear should _not_ have the right to look so intimidating!  Instinctively the skylord stepped back, prompting a cry from nearby.

“I thought ja didn’ want to be seein’ us again, mon!”  In alarm the skylord turned to see Madame Nubescu, the lady from earlier, looking on in fury that soon cooled.  “Sorry mon.  I thought ja be da other skylord.”

“Vitali?”

“Ja mon.  Ja look kinda da same, wid’ both of ja bein’ tall wid’ dark hair and grey coats-”

“I will have you know that I am not wearing grey; it is a muted blue!”  Lysander paused, noting his arms now crossed over his chest and the humoured look the lady in front of him now gave him.  Whoops: reflex reaction there.  “Besides, Vitali and I are _completely_ different.  I for one wear a hat.”  Okay, saying that out loud sounded rather petty.  But it was the small details that were important!  “Look, madam, I’m not here to discuss my choice of uniform.  I am here to ask you all some questions!”

“Den ja might not be wantin’ to ask Bruno here, or Banjo.”

“What in the name of Minecraftia do you mean?”

“Ja be valuin’ ja sanity no?” she chuckled harshly.  “And ja look tired!”  Humph, he was _perfectly_ awake thank ja very much.  Thank _you_ very much, for goodness’ sake!

“Look, how long has the Carnivale del Banjo been based here at Skyhold?” impatiently he asked, fishing some pocket change from his trouser pocket.  Ah, the comfort of soft trousers once more.  Soft, _clean_ trousers at that.  Nubescu’s eyes sparkled at the gold and iron coins.  Oh dear, he hadn’t realised quite how much was in that pocket.  She held out a hand expectantly.  Oh, he wasn’t getting that back, was he?  _Clink_.  And to think, this was the first time he’d visited the carnival in several years.

“About a week now, mon.”

“And business has been _terrible_!” screeched an overenthusiastic voice from one of the tents.  That would likely be the ‘Banjo’ that Nubescu had mentioned.  Angry sweeping noises had started up again, so the ‘Bruno’ seemed to be out of the picture once again.  Thankfully whoever was in the tent was _staying_ in the tent; he didn’t want to be met with cheerfulness right now.

“Has anyone but Vitali visited at all?”

“No,” shrugged Nubescu, a curious look about her.  “Dis place be empty but for da spirits.”  Well he couldn’t really tell if she knew anything, seeing as she could be lying.

“Well, do you know what happened here?”

“Well I know dat a man came here in da night...”

“A man?”  Of all the vague descriptions...

“Wid’ a mask.  An’ a green skirt.”  Oh for _goodness’_ sake!  How did _he_ crop up again?!  “Ja know who dis man is?”

Lysander had to wonder whether this woman was omniscient or just incredibly observant.  “No!  No of course not!”

“Well he’s held beneath,” continued Nubescu, knowing smirk firmly over her lips.  Held beneath?  Oh!  He’d been told once there was a secret cell hung beneath the hold, unused except in extreme circumstances.  Well he’d been _told_ it existed...  He’d never been told exactly where it _was_...  He could just ask the Heroes to find it; they had a knack for finding things no one was supposed to find.

“Do you know why he was taken there?”

“No idea mon.  Ja’d have to ask him jaself!”  No, no thank you.  Well that had to be important; he’d remember that.  But was there anything else he could ask about?  Ah!  Of course!

“I couldn’t help but notice that you knew the Heroes before you met them in the hospital,” remarked Lysander.  “However I do not know where or when you met them.”  Nubescu, having been turning away, now stalled, eyes watching Bruno whack snow from the side of a tent perfectly ignorant of the shrill shouts from within.  Well he _looked_ like he was ignorant of the shouts, but it would be unwise to bet any money on it.

“Dey  came to me when dey were chasin’ a man to Verigan’s Hold.  Peculier.  His name.”  Lysander’s eyes flew wide.  Did that mean...?

“Did you ever see Peculier in person?”

“Ja really be interested?” laughed Nubescu as Bruno rolled backwards shouting into the side of another tent as the one that he was cleaning appeared to punch him.  Lysander checked another pocket and pulled out another couple of iron coins.  “We talked a little, but he be sayin’ he had urgent business wid’ da hold dat shared his name.”  Yes, yes she knew Peculier too!  Then both the Heroes _and_ Peculier trusted her.  In that case, what could possibly be so untrustworthy, or ‘creepy’ about the people here!

But that would leave Vitali truly the most suspicious.  He thought quickly about their last interaction; had he run off at the mention that something might’ve changed about him, or was his memory playing tricks on him?  Either way, he had far too many doubts in Vitali now.  He should try to catch the Heroes, and see if they could get any more information so he could be _certain_.  Quietly he began to walk off, thanking Nubescu, who took little notice and instead choosing to watch as Banjo emerged from his ten in a fit of giggles and Bruno carried on sweeping passive-agressively.  At least it was still rather light outside; he could just see the Heroes hopping into view at the far end of the passage separating the main and ice-elemental platforms.  Gradually their conversation faded into hearing range.  “...he’s come to congratulate us!”  Well _this_ would be a let down for them.

“Heroes!” sighed Lysander, _trying_ to sound a little livelier.  “Something ill is afoot!”  Sure enough he was met with a disappointed grunt from the dwarf.

“Okay?” murmured the spaceman, blinking blankly.

“I have questioned the carnival folk,” continued the skylord, ignoring the two’s comments.  “They are good people-

“Apart from that Bruno, he’s a right arsehole!”  That last part definitely wasn’t him.  He glared at the sniggering dwarf.  The spaceman was giggling too.  Was that buffoon really worth such a reaction?

“I do not think Vitali is telling the truth about what happened here; I need your help to find out what happened to the skylords.”  Why were they groaning _now_?

“You don’t think Vitali’s... a member of the Cult of Israphel...” said the dwarf _perfectly deadpan_.  He could at least sound the least bit shocked!  Never mind; just continue on anyway.

“Nubescu tells me a man arrived here last night, and was imprisoned by Vitali!”

“But I thought everyone was supposed to be asleep!” gasped the spaceman.  Why was he more shocked by _that_ than the suggestion that a skylord could betray the kingdom they were supposed to protect?!  No, just _don’t_ think about it.  This would all be solved soon enough.

“He is held in a secret cell beneath the hold,” he went on, stifling another yawn.  “I will distract Vitali, and _you_ must speak to Nubescu-”

Suddenly the dwarf cut him off, begging  “Please, anything!  Anything but that!  I don’t want to speak to Nubescu!  Please!”

“You must find out what this man knows,” Lysander finally concluded, turning away.  He could swear he was getting a headache from those two’s incredibly disordered priorities.  Unshovelled snow crunched underfoot as he strode away from more blundering pleas, as he strode over the hill in the centre and stood by the porch of Vitali’s house and waited for the Heroes to pass into the outward segment of Skyhold.  Thank Notch, they were finally gone.  Anxiously the skylord peered through the window in the door; nothing stirred within.  Well Vitali _had_ said he was going to sleep.  So _really_ he could probably afford to just sit down here by the door, lean back and...

Why was it dark?  Wait, no it was getting lighter again now thank goodness.  And there were the Heroes’ laughs, Bruno’s angry voice and-

He’d fallen asleep, hadn’t he.  Blast.  Well everyone appeared to be alive and well so probably no harm done?  The dwarf and spaceman emerged once again to the main platform grinning slightly maniacally and moving straight towards him, looking in curiosity at the door.  Before immediately turning away and making towards the trees leading to the Central Spire.

“Um... Vitali’s house is here...” he mumbled, voice trailing off rather quickly.  Why were they digging up the ground?  Could they not at least say what they were doing before doing it?

“Lysander!” called the spaceman, grinning as he watched the skylord look around in utter confusion, casually wondering if next the walls would start melting and he would suddenly wake up in his bed in Mistral because everything that had happened since then simply didn’t make sense and couldn’t have happened.  “We got a clue from Um Bongo!”  Well that would explain the incredibly precise location.

“Oh?”  A furiously dark cloud flew across the sky and blotted away the early morning sunlight.  Oh, _hooray_.

“Come Lysander!” announced the dwarf.  Someone telling him what was happening would be _really really appreciated right now_.  “We must confront the enemy!”  Why were they pushing _him_ into this cramped, dirty, cramped, bloody, cramped, stuffy, incredibly underground looking tunnel _first_?  Desperately trying not to look desperate, Lysander stared up at the spaceman, the only one currently above ground.

“You go first, Honeydew.”  _Saviour_.  At last he was left walking behind the other two, sleepily brushing his hand against the wall.  Blood on the ground, mud on the walls, why was he doing this, when did he agree to this.  The Heroes’ idle chatter abruptly ceased.  Oh what _now_?  “Skylord Vimes; I stuck a meathook in his back?”

_What_?

“Oh god, this is _remains_.”

_What_?

“I snapped his spine with a mighty crack: Skylord Horus.”

_What_?

Torn pages from a book, each scribbled upon in black ink, fading ink.  Each chest forming a poem.  _I stuck a meathook in his back, I broke his spine with a mighty crack, at morning light our swords did clash, nothing left but bones and ash, I popped his eyes and drank the goo, I took his blade and ran him through..._ No...  It couldn’t be...  Everything swirled in front of him, white of cobwebs, brown of dirt, rust of dried blood, he gripped onto a wall he could feel behind him.  The creak of a hatch in the corner; this rabbit hole led further yet it seemed.

_You should never wake a sleeping vampire._

It was a little more spacious in here, thank goodness, he could breath.  Yes, just keep breathing and everything will be fine.  Ignore the opening hatch in the floor, just pull out your sword.  Instinct was a wonderful thing.  He could feel himself settling onto the balls of his feet as only Vitali’s leer came into clarity.  “Vitali, you fiend!”  He could feel his voice cracking.  No, he should hide whatever fear he had, present what bravery was left.  The dwarf was screaming behind him: not helpful.  Carefully, he was pacing now, as Vitali began a dry chuckle, the sound catching in his throat.

“So... I trust you know the truth,” he hissed almost, his sword scraping against the stone walls and floor as it was readied.

“We have a good idea,” shrugged the spaceman, as he was instantly distracted by his friend handing him a stick of all things.

“Yes.”  Lysander turned to divert his attention on the _monster_ before him.  “Vitali, I have but one question before I end your... undeath.”  That sounded _so_ much cooler in his head.

“Why?”

Whispered unhinged laughter bounced off the solid walls.  “Power, Lysander,” breathed the vampire, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  “Power.  The dark lord knows the _true_ power of Skyhold, and he offered me a grand prize to deliver it.”

“No prize could be worth the lives of your friends and family!”  He had most _definitely_ yelled that.

“Really?  Well we shall see.”  A growl, a snarl, a grin.  “I think you’ve heard enough.  To think, you shall die here...

“Alone.”  _Alone_.  _Alone in the dark, in an early tomb where none shall ever find you_.  He couldn’t be alone, he _couldn’t_.

“Not alone!  I have the Heroes by my side!”  Three tall men with dark hair stood facing ready, along with a dwarf who wasn’t doing very much at all.

“Then the master will want _them_ dead too!”  Vitali lunged forwards, making immediately for the dwarf.  Mere milliseconds passed before the other skylord swung sideways, pushing him away into the corner.  The spaceman just continuously jabbed ineffectually with a stick: not helpful.  Finally he was cornered, he had a chance to end this.  Lysander dived forwards, sword outstretched, making for his enemy’s neck.  And connecting.

It took more than a few seconds to note that the man Lysander was sure he had known was now very much _not_ there, very much a pile of gore making the floor slippery.  He stumbled back a little way.  What was done was done.

“Ooh goggles!”  _Why did he trust these people_?  “Look at me, look at me!”  Lysander continued to stare numbly at the not-quite-corpse of Vitali.  Strange.  Was that a record?  He leant forwards, picked it up.

“What did he mean about the ‘true power’ of Skyhold?” he mused nigh silently, blatantly ignoring the tomfoolery of the Heroes.  “And what _is_ the text on this record?”  He was sure he’d seen these words and digits before.  Ages ago.  On doors and in books that Grandfather would never really talk about.  “We need to get into the control room; you must finish the final challenge!”  He turned, began to walk back into horrible, _horrible_ cramped space that stank of death.  “Meet me atop the middle spire when you are done.”

Out into unlifting darkness, up into open space, up, up to look across the world to the horizon, huddled against a stained wall adorned with ladder to watch as the sky cleared and the sun shone upon the frozen hold.


	7. Epilogue: Prose

Lysander was definitely starting to build new opinions on what a reasonable workload should look like.  To reword that; the current workload was most definitely not reasonable.  At all.  Late afternoon now and he was returning from a toilet break to continue reading through application forms from hopeful future skylords in Icaria.  And write notes on them.  Then put notes into a pool of notes from other skylords in charge (so just Jasper).  Then review the notes.  Then select a shortlist of cadets.  Then write out forms to call them to- why was this system so bloody long?  Everyone would be risking their lives whether they were prepared to or not these days, so why go through a selection process of _paperwork_?  Really, it was trying on everyone and... oh for goodness’ sake.

“Jasper, either you aren’t even _trying_ to get on and do something,” he sighed, walking over to behind the desk.  “Or else you are making the most abstract and colourful notes known to man.  Please say which; I can’t really tell with you.”  Pastels were scattered across the wooden surface of the table and the skylord in question was bent over a smallish sketchpad, shading something in broad, fluid strokes.

“Got bored.”

Lysander glared at a very neat pile of unreviewed applications.  He’d put those there right after lunch and they looked suspiciously still in perfect order.  Casually glancing up and following his companion’s gaze he hastily muttered, “Got bored looking at the first one.”

“Which you didn’t even bother to shift so you could read it more comfortably.”

“Yep.”  Silence.  Lysander flicked his line of sight over to the open sketchpad.  His grandfather’s eyes looked softly back up at him.

“How long have you been drawing?” he asked, keeping his tone as neutral as he could.

A shrug in reply.  “No idea; I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier really.”  Wait, so Jasper was procrastinating while he was still in the room?!  Ugh.  Some people.  Apparently the conversation was over, and Jasper put down the pastel he was holding and reached towards the pile of documents.  Patting the desk, his hand finally clasped a well worn and rather blunt pencil; he quickly withdrew his hand and stared at the next page of his sketchpad.  So much for his break being over.  He began a rough sketch on the blank paper, lines soon meeting to form the outline of a face.

“How many portraits have you done of them all so far?” asked Lysander timidly, looking around for a chair; there was one cowering by the wall.

“Huh?  Hey you’ve seen like one and a bit pictures!” pouted the man in the red jacket, mock glaring with a ghost of a smile over his face.  “You shouldn’t leap to conclusions you know!”

“It’s pretty obvious you’re drawing all the skylords; it would make the most sense.”  Silence again.

After a few moments of nigh silent scratches of graphite over paper Jasper gave a gentle sigh.  “You really wanna see, huh.”

“How did you-”

“Ah, you see I have the super mystical power of being around you far too often and eventually picking up that you always hold your breath when you’re not sure whether you’re allowed to ask for something.”

“I could be not breathing for a _multitude_ of other reasons!”

“Yeah, like what?”  He grinned sideways, elbows on desk.  “Seeing as you don’t seem to be choking on anything.”

“I... um...”

“Never mind, I take that back; you do seem to be choking on _words_.”

“Oh yes very clever,” Lysander grumbled, turning his attention back to the pictures in the book open on the desk.  He could see Jasper rolling his eyes in his peripheral vision, turning the pages back, propping the most recent open with a finger.  The pictures were even captioned, though the words were perfectly superfluous.  Each smiling and smirking face was rendered in near photographic quality, eyes glinting in past light with past emotion.

“Is this all from memory?”

“Well you can’t get this light from anywhere in Skyhold or outside in Mistral, and I haven’t seen some of them anywhere else, so only partially from actual memory, and the rest just assumptions and shit.”

“...I’m not sure whether I’m more amazed by the fact you’ve drawn so many people like that from memory, or the fact you have apparently memorised the light patterns everywhere in both Skyhold and the streets of Mistral.”  He looked once more at the two drawings: Vimes, Finnigan.  A flick of the page.  “Hey, you forgot to name this one.”

“Huh?”  Jasper frowned at the picture: a young smiling face with messy dark hair and a swathe of purple for a shirt.  “Oh um... hey what’s his name again?”  Lysander’s face darkened a little.

“You’ve forgotten already?”

“Well sorry Mr Fancy-Name that I can’t remember other fancy names.  Please if you are so accustomed to fancy names, please share your hypo-thesaurus!”  He adjusted the goggles on top of his head snootily. 

“I think you mean ‘hypothesis’.”

“Whatever you call the hypo-thingy.  Silly sounding word anyway.”  Well it was fine, he’d just be proving himself better than Jasper at remembering important things like words, which of course included the name of his old colleagues...  Blast.  Quick, a cover up was needed!

“Surely though, as I have, as you so elegantly put it, a fancy name there would be one less fancy name in the world to remember.  After all, I’m not going to forget my own name, and don’t really think of it as fancy at all unless someone (i.e. you) is pointing it out.  So really I have less need to remember fancy names and as such never needed to hone that particular skill as much as you.”

“...”

“Which means _you_ are more in a position of shame for not remembering his name.”

“...”

“Oh dear, are _you_ now choking on your words?”  Jasper glared at him sceptically.  To think, he didn’t even need a single word to say ‘let it go’.  Quite incredible really.  Lysander cleared his throat and looked back at the sketchpad.  The skylord who he supposed would remain nameless for the remainder of eternity or until he could remember what he was called (whichever came first) smiled up alongside James.  Next page and now grinned Horus, extravagant hat and all.  A rough page with a bit of nonsense writing and scribbling over.  Page turn, and Baako once more came into view, as gentle an expression as he had always carried.  On the final page lay the faint grey outlines of Amber, a demure half-smile on her lips.

“How long did all this take you?” asked Lysander quietly.  He blinked, realising he was leaning on Jasper’s shoulder, the owner of said shoulder smirking down at him.

“Started yesterday lunchtime I think,” murmured Jasper, picking up his pencil again and adding shoulders to Amber. Lysander’s eyes wandered to the pile of mostly handwritten forms once again.

“I’m guessing you haven’t done any work since then.”

“Nah,” murmured Jasper, squinting at the page for a moment.  “Wanted to get everything down before I forgot anything.”  Lysander could feel Jasper’s shoulders shifting around as he reached forwards and gathered a few pastels in various browns and reds, then freeze.  “Aw shit, are you going to pull an Amber and start lecturing me on my priorities now?”  In surprise the other man jerked upright and observed the fed up look on Jasper’s face.

“No; why would I do th-”

_Beep, beep, beep._

“What the _fuck_ is that?”

_Beep, beep, beep._

“Hold on I see something flashing: looks electrical.”

_Beep, beep, beep._

“Yeah thanks!  Not like I couldn’t tell from the beeping!”

_Beep, beep, beep._

“Wait, is this a messaging system?  This looks rather new...”

***

The sun had almost reached the horizon, flooding the earth with orange light and rotting the damp vegetation.  A woman stumbled forwards near blindly, a weak smile playing on her face at the carefully built mountain blocking the sunlight as it rose to the sky no longer so far before her.  She continued at the same steady place past craters as the trees fell away to open rocky ground.  She nearly tripped again as she rounded the side of the mountain, of the city.  A courtyard of glowing fountains threw deeper shadows over her haggard face and hair matted into a tight bun on the back of her head.  So close and she clutched in her hand a grubby cloth now no more than a comfort rag.  A knock on the great iron door and she fell forwards, sliding across dull metal to worn and shining rock.  Crunching the door opened its jaws.  A stout figure peeked out from the shadows

“Oi!  Someone come over and look at this!”

A second figure joined the first.  “And what would ‘this’ be?  Look at it!  Doesn’t even have a beard!”

“Yeah, but it’s got goggles.”

“So what?”

“We still got the goggle-guys’ machine right?”

“Yeah...”

“Well let’s stop it being just a waste of space and ask if they’ve lost one of theirs; I reckon they’ll be giving us a _reward_ for it.”

“Huh.  I’m keepin’ this in the jail though.  I ain’t dealin’ with it going berserk and tryin’ ta wipe us out.  This better be worth it!”

With a few words the woman was dragged with little care into the hillside.


End file.
